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Elizatetban*  ^onig^ 


OvcK  Karmon^  is  in 
immort&l  sovl3"»  « » 

/AtRChANTOF  VENICE: 


BOSTON  •^nOCCCG 


Copyright,  1891, 
By  Edmund  H.  Garrett. 


Santbetsttg  if  regs : 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


•••  ,•»  •    t  *  • 

•  I  •    •  •  *  *  • 


ihiij.Tjuejalute  thee  wbh  our  early -song, 
Jnnd  mlccnw  thee  and  wijh  thee  lotig\  ^ 

^  IMlLTON. 


267899 


#i(3tiT\  tents- 

>^.»  //  ^"^§jh\  ^  ^*^  rather  than  forty  shillings  I  had  my  book  q/ 

^  songs  and  sonnets  here. 

■  «=?_^^  Merry  wives  of  Windsor. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

FRANCIS   BEAUMONT  (1586-1616). 

JOHN   FLETCHER  (1576-1625).  p^^^ 

Wedding  Song 83 

Wake,  Gently  Wake 84 

Song  in  the  Wood 85 

Bridal  Song 86 

Spring-time  and  Love 87 

To  my  Mistress's  Eyes 90 

Serenade 91 

To  Angelina 92 

To  THE  Blest  Evanthe 93 

BRETON,  NICHOLAS  (1555-1624). 

Phillida  and  Corydon 26 

BROWNE,  WILLIAM  (1590-1645). 

The  Siren's  Song 133 

Song 135 

vii 


€li^httf^an  S>ms$. 


CAMPION,  THOMAS  (i54o?-i623?).  ^^^^ 

Love's  Request 96 

To  Lesbia 98 

Cherry  Ripe  .    .    .    .    ; 99 

CAREW,   THOMAS  (1589-1639). 

Song 120 

A  Prayer  to  the  Wind 121 

Disdain  Returned 123 

The  Primrose 124 

Ungrateful  Beauty 125 

Celia  Singing 126 

Song 127 

In  Praise  of  his  Mistress 129 

Red  and  White  Roses 130 

The  Protestation 131 

COWLEY,  ABRAHAM  (1618-1667). 

The  Thief      ...         176 

Love  in  her  Sunny  Eyes 178 

DANIEL,  SAMUEL  (1562-1619). 

Love 49 

From  "Hymen's  Triumph" 51 

ElDOLA 52 

Eyes,  Hide  my  Love 53 

DEKKER,  THOMAS  (i57o?-i64i  ?). 

Beauty,  Arise! 94 

The  Invitation 95 

DRAYTON,  MICHAEL  (1563-1631). 

To  his  Coy  Love 54 

Love  Banished  Heaven 56 

Defiance  to  Love 57 

viii 


Cotttent^s?* 


DRUMMOND,  WILLIAM  (1585-1649).  p^^.^ 

To  Chloris no 

Madrigal in 

Song 112 

I>yER,  SIR  EDWARD  (1550-1607). 

To  Phillis,  the  Fair  Shepherdess     ....  9 

GASCOIGNE,  GEORGE  (1537-1577). 

Lullaby  of  a  Lover 5 

A  Strange  Passion  of  a  Lover 7 

GREENE,  ROBERT  (i56o?-i592). 

Menaphon's  Song 4a 

The  Shepherd's  Wife's  Song 42 

Cupid's  Ingratitude 45 

Infida's  Song 46 

GREVILLE,  FULKE  (LORD  BROOKE),  (1554  ?-i638). 

Myra 20 

To  HER  Eyes 22 

HABINGTON,  WILLIAM  (1605-1645). 

To  Roses  in  the  Bosom  of  Castara   ....  160 

To  Cupid,  upon  a  Dimple  in  Castara's  Cheek  162 

The  Reward  of  Innocent  Love 163 

HARYNGTON,  JOHN  (1534-1582). 

A  Heart  of  Stone 3 

HERRICK,  ROBERT  (1591-1674). 

The  Rock  of  Rubies 137 

Upon  Sappho  Sweetly  Playing  and  Sweetly 

Singing 138 

To  Meadows 139 

Delight  in  Disorder 141 

ix 


(Clijaliet&att  S>ms^. 


HERRICK,  ROBERT  {continued).  pace 

The  Night  Piece 142 

To  THE  Virgins 144 

Art  above  Nature 145 

Cherry  Ripe 146 

To  THE  Rose 147 

On  Chloris  Walking  in  the  Snow    ....  148 

How  Roses  came  Red 14^ 

HEYWOOD,  THOMAS  ( ?-i649). 

Greetings  to  my  Love 58 

Love's  Ecstasy 60 

To  Phyllis 61 

JONSON,  BEN  (X574-1637). 

Song 100 

Perfect  Beauty loi 

The  Triumph  of  Charis 102 

To  Celia 104 

The  Sweet  Neglect 105 

The  Kiss 106 

The  Banquet  of  Sense 107 

To  A  Glove 108 

Venetian  Song 109 

LODGE,  THOMAS  (1556-1625). 

Rosalind's  Madrigal 28 

The  Deceitful  Mistress 31 

Rosalind's  Description 33 

Spring  and  Melancholy 36 

Love's  Wantonness 38 

Do  ME  Right,  and  do  me  Reason 39 

LOVELACE,  RICHARD  (1618-1658). 

To  Althea  from  Prison 171 

Going  to  the  Wars 173 

The  Rose •174 

X 


Content^* 


LYLY,  JOHN  (1554-1600). 

Daphne 11 

Syrinx 12 

Song  to  Apollo 13 

Love's  College 14 

Spring's  Welcome 15 

Cupid  and  Campaspe 16 

Arrows  for  Love 17 

Cupid  Arraigned 18 

MARLOWE,  CHRISTOPHER  (1564-1593). 

The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  his  Love      .    .  63 

SHAKESPEARE,  WILLIAM  (1564-1616). 

To  Sylvia 65 

Song 67 

To  Imogen 68 

Inconstancy 69 

Fancy ,    .  70 

The  Rhyme  of  White  and  Red 71 

Spring 72 

Biron's  Canzonet 73 

The  Lover's  Tears 75 

Perjury  Excused 76 

Oh,  Mistress  Mine 77 

It  was  a  Lover  and  his  Lass 78 

Song 79 

A  Bridal  Song 80 

A  Wedlock  Hymn 82 

SHIRLEY,  JAMES  (1594-1666). 

The  Looking-Glass 150 

A  Lullaby ^151 

To  one  Saying  she  was  Old 152 

On  her  Dancing 153 

ad 


€{t;alietl^an  Mns^. 


SIDNEY,  SIR  PHILIP  (1554-1586).  ^^^^ 

Absence 23 

SUCKLING,  SIR  JOHN  (1609-1641). 

Orsames'  Song 165 

Constancy 167 

True  Love 168 

Song 169 

WALLER,  EDMUND  (1603-1686). 

On  a  Girdle 154 

To  Chloris 15s 

To  Flavia 156 

Stay,  Phcebus 157 

Song 158 

WITHER,  GEORGE  (i 588-1667). 

Shall  I,  Wasting  in  Despaire 115 

A  Song  to  her  Beauty 118 


xii 


An  Ind 


ex 


•O 


rirjtLir\e5 


They  "Were  old-fashioned  poetry ,  but 
choicely  good. 

IZAAC  Walton. 


A  sweet  disorder  in  the  dress Robert  Herrick    . 

Ah,  I  remember  well  (and  how  can  I)  .    .     .  Samuel  Daniel    . 

Ah,  what  is  love  ?  it  is  a  pretty  thing   .     .     .  Robert  Greene 

And  her  lips  (that  show  no  dulness)      .     .     .  George  Wither     . 

Amid  my  bale  I  bathe  in  bliss George  Gascoigne 

Are  they  shadows  that  we  see Samuel  Daniel    . 

Ask  me  no  more  where  Jove  bestows  .     .     .  Thomas  Careiv    . 

Ask  me  why  I  send  you  here Thoinas  Carew    . 

Beauty,  alas !  where  wast  thou  born     .     .    .  Thomas  Lodge     . 

Beauty,  arise,  show  forth  thy  glorious  shining  Thomas  Dekker  . 

Beauty  clear  and  fair yohn  Fletcher .    . 

Cease,  warring  thoughts,  and  let  his  brain    .  James  Shirley     . 

Cherry-Ripe,  ripe,  ripe  !  I  cry Robert  Herrick    . 

Come  away !  bring  on  the  bride Beaumont  and  Fletcher 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love  .     ,     .     .  Christopher  Marlowe 

Come,  my  Celia,  let  us  prove Ben  Jonson      .     .    . 

xiu 


page 
141 
51 
42 

ii8 

7 

52 

127 

124 

39 
94 
92 

151 
146 
86 
63 
109 


€U?a6etl)an  ^ong^* 


Cupid  abroad  was  'lated  in  the  night 
Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  played .    . 


Dearest,  do  not  you  delay  me.    .    , 
Did  not  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine 
Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes     . 

Eyes,  hide  my  love  and  do  not  show 


Robert  Greene. 
,     John  Lyly  .     . 


.     Jo/in  Fletcher 
eye    .     Shakespeare 
.    Ben  Jonson 


Savtuel  Daniel 


PAGE 

•       45 
16 

.       91 

.       76 
104 

.      53 


Fain  would  I  wake  you,  sweet,  but  fear 


Beaujnont  and  Fletcher      84 


Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may    ....  Robert  Herrick    , 

Go,  thou  gentle,  whispering  wind   ....  Thomas  Carew 

Go,  happy  rose,  and  interwove Robert  Herrick 

Go,  lovely  rose Edmund  WcUler  . 


Hark,  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings  Shakespeare     .    . 

He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek Thomas  Carew    . 

Hence  with  passion,  sighs,  and  tears    .    .     .  Thomas  Heywood 

Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee  ....  Robert  Herrick    . 
Hold  back  thy  hours,  dark  Night,  till  we 

have  done Beaumont  and  Fletcher      83 


I  pray  thee.  Love,  love  me  no  more     .    .    .  MicJtael  Drayton      .    . 

I  prithee  send  me  back  my  heart     ....  Sir  John  Suckling  .    . 

I  saw  faire  Chloris  walke  alone Robert  Herrick    .     .     . 

I  stood  and  saw  my  mistress  dance  ....  James  Shirley  .  .  . 
I  with  whose  colors  Myra  drest  her  head  Fulke  Greville  {Lord  Brooke) 
If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  I  swear 

to  love Shakespeare     . 

If  she  be  made  of  white  and  red Shakespeare     . 

In  the  merry  month  of  May Nicholas  Breton 

It  was  a  beauty  that  I  saw Ben  Jonson .     . 

It  was  a  lover  and  his  lass Shakespeare 

Know,  Celia,  since  thou  art  so  proud  .    .    .  Thomas  Carew 

Let  .those  complain  that  feel  Love's  cruelty  .  John  Fletcher  , 

Like  to  the  clear  in  highest  sphere  ....  Thomas  Lodge 

Love  in  her  sunny  eyes  does  basking  play     .  Abraham  Cowley 

Love  in  my  bosom  like  a  bee Thomas  Lodge 

Love  is  a  sickness  full  of  woes Samuel  Daniel 

Love,  banish'd  heaven,  in  earth  was  held  in 

scorn Michael  Drayton 


H7 
158' 

68 


54 
169 
148 
153 

20 

73 
71 
26 

lOI 

78 


XIV 


^nhtx  to  f  ir^t  %mt$. 


PAGE 

Love  guides  the  roses  of  thy  lips     .... 

Thomas  Lod^e     .    . 

38 

Live  with  me  still,  and  all  the  measures  .     . 

Thomas  Dekker  .     .     . 

95 

My  Daphne's  hair  is  twisted  gold    .... 

JohnLyly        .     .     .    . 

II 

My  Phillis  hath  the  morning  Sun    .... 

Sir  Edward  Dyer   . 

9 

My  shag-hair  Cyclops,  come,  let's  ply  .     .    . 

John  Lyly   .... 

17 

My  sweetest  Lesbia,  let  us  live  and  love  .    . 

Thomas  Campion     .    . 

98 

Nimble  boy,  in  thy  warm  flight 

WUliamHabington. 

162 

No,  no,  fair  heretic  1  it  needs  must  be  .     .     . 

Sir  John  Suckling  . 

168 

No  more  shall  meads  be  decked  with  flowers 

Thomas  Carew    .     . 

131 

Now  I  find  thy  looks  were  feigned  .... 

Thomas  Lodge     .    . 

31 

Now  the  lusty  spring  is  seen 

John  FUicher  .    .    . 

87 

O  Cupid  !  monarch  over  kings 

yohnLyfy   .... 

14 

O  dear  life,  when  shall  it  be  ? 

Sir  Philip  Sidney     . 

23 

0  fair,  sweet  face !   O  eyes  celestial  bright    . 

John  Fletcher  .    .     . 

.      90 

0  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming  .     . 

Shakespeare.   •    .    . 

77 

Oh,  do  not  wanton  with  those  eyes  .... 

Ben  JonsoH  .... 

.     100 

Oh  that  joy  so  soon  should  waste     .... 

Ben  Jonson .... 

ic6 

Oh,  yes!  oh,  yes  !  if  any  maid 

JohnLyly  .... 

18 

On  a  day  (alack  the  day!) 

Shakespeare     .     .     . 

67 

Out  upon  it  1  I  have  loved 

Sir  John  Suckling   . 

167 

Pack  clouds  away,  and  welcome  day    .    .    . 

Thomas  Heywood     . 

S8 

Pan's  Syrinx  was  a  girl  indeed 

JohnLyly    .... 

12 

Phoebus,  arise 

William  Drummond 

112 

Read  in  these  roses  the  sad  story     .... 

Thomas  Carew    .     . 

130 

Roses  at  first  were  white 

Robert  H err ick    .     . 

149 

Roses,  their  sharp  spines  being  gone   .    .    . 

Shakespeare     .     .    . 

80 

See,  Chloris,  how  the  clouds 

IVilliam  Drummond    , 

no 

See  the  chariot  at  hand  here  of  Love  .     .    . 

Ben  Jonson .... 

102 

Shall  I  come,  sweet  Love,  to  thee  .... 

Thomas  Campion     . 

96 

Shall  I,  wasting  in  despaire 

George  Wither     .     . 

"5 

Shoot,  false  Love  1     I  care  not 

Michael  Drayton .    . 

57 

Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more  .... 

Shakespeare     .     .     . 

69 

Sing  lullaby,  as  women  do  ..*...     . 

George  Gascoigne     . 

5 

Sing  to  Apollo,  god  of  day  . 

JohnLyly   .... 

13 

Some  asked  me  where  the  rubies  grew     .    . 

Robert  Herrick    .     . 

137 

Some  say  Love 

Robert  Greene .     .     . 

40 

So  sweet  a  kiss  the  golden  sun  gives  not  .     . 

Shakespeare     .     .     . 

75 

Stay,  Phoebus  1  stay 

Edmund  Waller .     . 

157 

<eB{t;aIiet]^an  S>ons0. 


Steer,  hither  steer  your  wingM  pines  .    •    . 

Still  to  be  neat,  still  to  be  drest 

Sweet  Adon,  dar'st  not  glance  thine  eye  .  . 
Sweet  Rose  1  whence  is  this  hue  .... 
Sweet,  serene,  sky-like  flower 

Take,  oh  take  those  lips  away 

Tell  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkind  .... 
Tell  me  not  Time  hath  played  the  thief    .     . 

Tell  me  where  is  Fancy  bred 

That  which  her  slender  waist  confined  .  . 
The  earth,  late  choked  with  showers    .     .    . 

Then  in  a  free  and  lofty  strain 

There  is  a  garden  in  her  face 

This  way,  this  way  come,  and  hear  .... 
Thou  more  than  most  sweet  glove  .... 
Thou  robb'st  my  days  of  business  and  delights 
'Tis  not  your  beauty  can  engage 

We  saw  and  wooed  each  other's  eyes  .    .     . 

Wedding  is  great  Juno's  crown 

Welcome,  welcome  do  I  sing 

What  bird  so  sings,  yet  so  does  wail     .    .    . 

When  I  behold  a  forest  spread 

When  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue  .  .  . 
When  love  with  unconfin&d  wings  .... 

When  this  crystal  shall  present 

When  thou  dost  play  and  sweetly  sing  .  .  . 
Whence  comes  my  love  ?    O  heart,  disclose  . 

Whilst  I  listen  to  thy  voice 

Who  is  Sylvia?    What  is  she? 

Why  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover  .... 
Would  you  know  what's  soft  ?    I  dare .    .     . 


Ye  blushing  virgins  happy  are IVtlliant  Habing^on      .  i6o 

Ye  have  been  fresh  and  green Robert  Herrick    ...  139 

Ye  little  birds  that  sit  and  sing Thomas  Heyivood     .    .  61 

You  little  stars  that  live  in  skies  .    .    .    Fulke  Greville  (Lord  Brooke)  22 

You  that  think  love  can  convey Thomas  Carew    .    •    .  126 

You  that  will  a  wonder  know Tliomas  Carew    •    .    .  129 


PAGE 

WUliam  Browne       .    . 

133 

Ben  Jonson 

105 

Robert  Greene .... 

46 

William  Drummond   . 

III 

Richard  Lovelace     .     . 

174 

Shakespeare     .... 

79 

Richard  Lovelace     .    . 

173 

James  Shirley      .     .     . 

152 

Shakespeare     .... 

70 

Edmund  Waller .    .     . 

154 

Thomas  Lodge     .     .    . 

36 

Ben  Jonson      .... 

107 

Thomas  Campion      .     . 

99 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher 

8S 

Ben  Jonson 

108 

Abraham  Cowley     .     . 

176 

Edmund  Waller .    .     . 

156 

William  Haiington .     . 

163 

Shakespeare    .... 

82 

William  Browne      .     . 

135 

JohnLyly 

15 

Robert  Herrick    .    .     . 

MS 

Shakespeare     .... 

72 

Richard  Lovelace     .    . 

171 

James  Shirley     .     .     . 

ISO 

Robert  Herrick    .    .     . 

138 

John  Haryngton  .     .    . 

3 

Edmund  Waller .    .    . 

ns 

Shakespeare     .... 

65 

Sir  John  Suckling   .     . 

165 

Thomas  Carew     .     .     . 

120 

1 1 


m  or 


Dosi  thou  love  pictures  ? 
)^-l-^  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 

TAe  illustrations,  reproduced  by  photogravure,  are  from  water' 
color  drawings.  Six  of  them,  decorative  and  emblematic  figures, 
are  printed  in  sepia.  They  represejtt  six  characters,  —  Grace, 
Love,  Harmony,  Revel,  Sport,  and  Laughter, — from  a  masqtie 
by  Ben  Jonson,  written  for  a  Christmas  revel  at  the  Court  of 
James  I.  in  1617.  The  fifty  headings  and  tail-pieces  are  from 
pen-and-ink  drawings. 


TO  FAC&  PAGE 

Salutation iv 

®race 2 

"Pan's  Syrinx  was  a  girl  indeed"      ....  12 

"i  that  did  wear  the  ring  her  mother  left"  20 

1.0be 28 

"Her  eyes  are  sapphires  set  in  snow".    .    .  34 

"  N  'OSEREZ   VOUS,    MON   BEL,   AMI  " 46 

"  I    PRAY   THEE,  LOVE,    LOVE   ME   NO   MORE   "    .      .      .  54 

xvii 


%t$t  of  'f^Humeitxon$. 


TO  FACE  PACE 

Jj^armong 58 

"Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love"    ...  64 

"When  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smocks"  72 

"Fain  would  I  wake  you,  sweet" 84 

i^efael 90 

"My  sweetest  Lesbia,  let  us  live  and  love"    98 
"That  was  thy  mistress,  best  of  gloves"      .  108 

^port 120 

"  so  may  you  when  the  music  's  done,  awake 

and  see  the  rising  sun  " 1 26 

"When  thou  dost  play  and  sweetly  sing"   .  138 

Haugfjter 150 

"'T  is  not  your  beauty  can  engage  my  wary 
heart" 156 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much,  loved 
I  not  honour  more" .172 


Here  follows  prose. 

Twelfth  Night. 


HY  was   the  Elizabethan  Age,  and 
M^'P^'"  —    why  were  the  ages  that  succeeded 


Elizabeth,  down  to  the  Restoration, 
so  rich  in  song ;  and  why  have  later 
periods  been  so  poor?  In  this  volume 
of  selected  verse  the  word  ^^ Elizabethan''^  is 
used  in  a  wide  sense:  we  come  down  as  far 
as  Waller,  who  died  in  1686,  and  Herrick, 
who  died  in  1674.  The  songs  of  the  writers 
from.  Shakespeare  to  Waller  sing  themselves,  as 
we  may  say  they  have  their  own  natural  music, 
and  like  Philomel  in  Homer  pour  forth  their 


<£li?a6et]^n  Mngg. 


turns  and  trills  upon  the  night ;  but  since  that 
melodious  centuryy  the  songs  of  our  poets  do 
not  sing  themselves^  as  a  rule.  They  are  musi- 
cal, indeed ;  but  somehow  they  are  not  easily 
wedded  to  musicy  and  the  songs  which  we  hear 
sung  are  seldom  poetry.  There  are^  of  courscy 
exceptions.  Among  these  the  songs  of  Burns 
can  hardly  be  reckoned  perhaps  as  helpful  in 
answering  our  question,  because  Burns  deliber- 
ately and  assiduously  adapted  his  words  to 
Scottish  airs  then  already  i^t  existence.  The 
good  old  Scottish  tunes  went  with  old  words 
often  coarse,  perhaps  yet  more  often  foolish  a7id 
almost  senseless  ;  Burns  supplied  new  and  beau- 
tiftd  language  and  passion,  but  the  singing 
quality  was  present  already  in  the  ancient  mtisic. 
Scotfs  songs,  again,  were  often  made  to  music,  as 
in  the  case  of  *'  Bonny  Dundee'''  Others  which 
he  wrote ^  like  ^' Proud  Maisie,''  are  as  admirable 
as  any  which  are  ha^tded  down  from  tlie  age  of 
song;  but  who  sings  them? 

The   Scottish  poets,   like  Lady  Nairne,  gave 
us  immortal  songs ;   but  the  music  was  either 


3fntrotiuctton* 


old,   or  the  singer   was  his  own,  or  her  own, 
composer. 

Our  lack  of  songs  is  not  due  to  lack  of  poets. 
.  Lord  Tennyson,  Shelley,  and  Swinburne  have 
written  verse  as  musical  as  any  that  the  Eng- 
lish language  can  boast  of;  and  as  much  may  be 
said  for  Edgar  Poe,  But  any  ear  can  discern 
that  the  new  harmonies  are  different  from  the 
Elizabethan  harmonies ,  —  are  more  formal,  per- 
haps, certainly  less  like  birds'  notes ;  that  the 
cadences  are  more  expected,  less  happily  surpris- 
ing. The  songs  of  these  poets  are  not  favorites 
with  musicians ;  Shelley  in  particular  is  rarely 
sung.  Meanwhile  such  versifiers  as  Thomas 
Haynes  Bayly  have  been  highly  popular  with 
singers,  and  every  one  admits  that  most  of  our 
popular  songs,  with  the  exception  of  Dibden's 
and  a  few  others,  are,  considered  as  poetry, 
worthless.  The  author  of  **  Oh,  no,  we  never 
mention  her,'^  and  "  She  wore  a  wreath  of 
roses,''  was  himself  a  musician;  and  so  was 
Moore,  many  of  whose  songs  naturally  escape 
the  general  condemnation.    Why  things  are  thus, 


<CIi?aBetfian  ^onq^. 


is  perhaps  a  question  to  be  answered  by  musi- 
cians rather  than  by  lovers  of  poetry.  The 
divorce  between  Music  and  Poetry  is  pronounced. 
Most  modern  poets  rather  hate  music  tJtan  love 
it;  most  popular  composers  appear  to  dislike 
poetry.  Of  Victor  Hugo  we  are  told  that  he 
"  especially  detested  the  piano''  Gautier  called 
music  "  the  most  expensive  and  the  least  agree- 
able of  noises y  Of  recent  and  living  English 
poets,  I  fear  only  two  have  loved  music  welly  — 
Mr,  Browning,  and  Mr.  Robert  Bridges.  Of 
these  two,  nobody  would  remark  Mr.  Browning 
as  particularly  skilled  in  verbal  melodies; 
though  there  is  a  so7tg  in  **  Paracelsus "  which 
seems  to  show  that  Mr.  Browning  wrote  in- 
harmonious verse  by  choice,  and  not  because 
melody  was  beyond  his  genius. 

It  seems,  therefore.^  that  m,odern  poets,  being 
unmusical,  do  not  produce  songs  particularly  well- 
suited  for  singing ;  while  we  must  assume  that 
the  older  singers  really  wrote  for  the  purpose  of 
being  sung,  and  were  themselves  musicians  and 
lovers  of  music.     Yet  even  on  this  head  we  have 


^Ftttro&uctiott* 


not  always  certainty ;  for  poets  affect  in  their 
verse  to  like  music,  even  though  they  secretly  share 
the  sentiments  of  Victor  Hugo.  Yet  our  inclina- 
tion to  believe  in  the  true  love  of  music  among 
the  Elizabethans  is  strengthened  by  the  ma7t7ter 
of  their  publication.  It  is  from  rare  ^^  Books  of 
Airs''  that  Mr.  Bullen  has  gathered  the  poems 
of  Campion,  and  of  m.any  others  with  which  he 
has  enriched  our  poetry.  Campion  himself  wrote 
much  of  his  own  music  in  ''A  Book  of  Airs'' 
(i6oi).  As  he  himself  says,  ''/  have  chiefly 
aimed  to  couple  my  words  and  notes  lovingly 
together,"  "  The  lute  Orpherian  and  base  violl " 
seem  to  have  been  ever  in  our  ancestors'  hands ; 
and  the  singing  humor  was  thus  strong  in 
Walton's  day,  **  when,"  as  the  milk-woman  says, 
"  Young  Coridon  played  so  purely  on  his  pipe 
to  you  and  your  cousin  Betty."  Not  now  shall 
we  find  milkmaids  who  know  "  Come.,  Shep- 
herds, deck  your  heads, ^'  or  "  Phillida  flouts 
me"  or  ''  yohnny  Armstrong','  or  "  Troy  Town!' 
Education  is  hostile  to  literature.  The  untaught 
country  folk  of  Walton's  age  were  familiar  with 
xxiii 


€li5aBetl|an  M>ms$. 


good  poetry  ;  the  instructed  people  of  to-day  sing 
mtisic-hall  trashy  if  they  sing  anything.  By 
Test  or  Kennet  no  angler  shall  hear  fair 
Maudlin  chant  that  smooth  song  which  was 
made  by  Kit  Marlowe,  now  at  least  fifty  years 
ago!     Utopia  is  behind  us. 

The  astonishing  thing  is  that  in  the  age  of 
poetry,  from  1570  to  1670,  all  the  poets,  with 
hardly  an  exception,  were  natural  singers.  That 
Shakespeare  had  this  gift  is  no  marvel,  wheit 
07ice  the  miracle  of  his  universality  is  graftted. 
But  Marlowe^  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and 
the  ponderously  learned  Ben  Jonson,  and  the 
sombre  Webster  were  all  song-makers,  —  all  had 
that  lost  inimitable  art,  that  i{nconscious  charm. 
The  gift  descended  even  to  authors  now  un- 
known or  unnoted,  —  to  all  who  were  "  sealed  of 
the  tribe  of  Ben','  like  " fny  son  William,  Cart- 
wrighf  with  his  — 

*'  Hark,  my  Flora  /  Love  doth  call  us 
To  that  strife  that  must  befall  us.''"' 

It  may  be  said  that  the  tempests  of  our  age 
have  silenced  song,  as  linnets  are  quiet  before 
xxiv 


3^ntrotiuctiott* 


the  storm.  But  the  civil  wars  did  not  quench 
the  music  of  Suckling  and  Herricky  of  Cartwright 
and  Carew.  Prison  and  battle  only  inspire  the 
muse  of  Lovelace y  as  in  his  — 

"  If  to  be  absent  were  to  be 
Away  from  thee,'^ 

and  this  purest  chant  of  spiritual  affection^  — 

**  Above  the  highest  sphere  wee  meet 

Unseene,  unknowne,  and  greet  as  angels  greet.^^ 

Still  his  mind  is  full  of  love  and  beauty ^  as  in 
"  To  Amaranthay  that  she  would  dishevell  her 
haire,'*  These  songs  we  learn  from  Lovelaces 
'* Lucasta''  (1649)  ^^^^  ''set''  by  Mr.  Henry 
Lawes  and  Mr.  John  Laniere  and  Mr.  Hudson 
and  Dr.  John  Wilson ;  and  it  was  Mr.  Thomas 
Charles  who  ''  seV  the  gallant  impertinence  of — 

"  Why  should  you  swear  I  am  forsworn 
Since  thine  I  vow'd  to  be  ? 
Lady,  it  is  already  morn. 
And  V  was  last  night  I  swore  to  thee 
That  fond  impossibility?'' 

The  music  and  the  words,  in  all  that  age,  were 
twins  from   the  birth.     I  happen  to  have  here 


€Ii5^etl^an  ^rngfi. 


"Poems,  Songs,  and  Sonnets,  together  with  a 
Masque,  by  Thomas  Carew,  Esq.  The  Fourth 
Edition.  London,  1671."  Some  former  owner 
has  written  in  an  old  haitd  on  the  fly-leaf, 
"  The  Songs  set  in  Musick  in  H.  Lawes's  Ay  res 
and  Dialogues  for  One,  Two,  and  Three  Voyces'' 
While  music  and  ve?'se  thus  lived  inseparable, 
Carew,  in  an  age  long  after  the  Elizabetlian, 
could  write  — 

'•''Ask  me  no  more  where  Jove  bestows. 
When  June  is  past,  the  fading  Rose^^ 

and  — 

"  He  that  loves  a  rosie  cheek 
Or  a  coral  lip  admires^ 

Herrick  says  little  of  music  in  his  "  Hesperides ,'' 
save  to  complain  that  when  — 

'*  The  bad  season  makes  the  Poet  sad^' 

he  is  — 

"  Dull  to  myself,  and  almost  dead  to  these 
My  many  fresh  and  fragrant  mistresses, 
Lost  to  all  music  nowJ"* 

But  Herrick,  too,  retains  that  Elizabethan  lilt, 
as  in  the  "  Mad  Maid's  Song,''  — 


^Fnttotiuttiott* 


"  Good-morroiv  to  the  day  so  fair^ 
Good-morrow,  sir,  to  you; 
Good-morrow  to  m.ine  own  torn  hair, 
Bedabbled  with  the  dew.^^ 

Herrick  gratefully  addresses  "  Mr.  Henry 
Lawes,  the  Excellent  Composer  of  his  Lyrics^' 
and  while  praising  him  praises  also  ^^  rare 
La7iiere,''  ^^ rare  Gotire,''  and  '^curious  Wilson^ 
The  songs  of  that  century  were  never  written, 
as  lyrics  now  have  long  been  written,  except 
for  the  purpose  of  being  sung.  They  were 
meant  for  voices  in  m^asques  or  in  plays,  inter- 
ludes of  music  in  dance  or  in  action;  or  they 
were  such  nuptial  songs  and  epithalamies  as  the 
manners  of  frank  and  joyous  people  required. 
Thus  our  lyric  poetry  of  that  period  answered, 
in  its  way,  to  the  lyric  poetry  of  Greece  in  the 
period  of  Sappho  and  Alcceus.  Unfortunately 
for  our  singei's,  the  bulk  of  the  Greek  song  of 
that  date  is  lost ;  but  they  fell  back  on  what 
ancient  inspirations  they  had  to  hand,  —  a7td  in 
the  floral  verse  of  Herrick,  especially,  there  are 
frequent    imitations   of    the    Greek   Anthology. 


<Ctt?a6et6an  Mns$. 


Herrick  rejoices  in  that  pleasing  confusion  of 
flowers  and  maids  and  delights^  a7td  despite 
'^ his  Noble  Numbers  or  his  Pious  Pieces''  is 
as  great  a  heathen  as  Paulus  Silentiariiis, 
These  lyrists  are  all  much  inclined  to  cry^  with 
Campion^  — 

"  /  care  not  for  these  ladies 
That  must  be  vowed  and  prayed j 
Give  me  kind  Amaryllis, 
The  wanton  cou?itry  maid."" 

Their  happy  and  uitreflecting  wantonness  makes ^ 
no  dojibt,  part  of  their  charm  ;  and  this^  it  7nay 
be  said,  was  nearly  killed  by  Puritanism,  zvas 
only  blown  into  a  brief  aud  hectic  flame  by  the 
orgy  of  the  Restoration,  and  quite  expired,  even 
in  Dryden's  songs,  under  non-lyrical  French  in- 
fluences. The  last  echoes  of  Elizabethan  melody 
fade  away  in  some  of  the  latest  love-songs  in 
Mr.  BulMs  "  Love  Poems  from  tlie  Song- 
Books  of  the  Seventeenth  Century','  as  in  the 
epithalamium  from  "  Wit  at  a  Venture"  (1674), 
written  by  Robert  Barns  (1650), — 


^Ftttro&ucttom 


"  Be  young  to  each  when  winter  and  gray  hairs 
Your  head  shall  climb; 
May  your  affections  like  the  merry  spheres 
Still  move  in  time, 

And  may  {with  many  a  good  presage) 
Your  marriage  prove  your  merry  age''' 

Changed  timeSy  changed  minds  !  "  Marriage  is 
a  failure ! "  and  who  calls  the  spheres  merry  ? 
"  Weary''  is  a  likelier  epithet,  Mr.  Carlyle 
called  them  ''a  sad  sicht''  We  must  be  merry 
again  before  we  can  be  musical,  save  in  an  eru- 
dite, tuneless  fashion ;  and  Heaven  only  knows 
when  zve  shall  be  merry  agai?i ! 

We  cannot  revive  that  pleasant,  careless  babble\ 
which  in  some  of  Shakespeare's  songs  breaks 
down  into  a  mirthful  nonsense  of  chorus.  We 
cannot  regain  that  country  contentment,  that 
spontaneous  melody,  which  all  the  singers  of  a 
century  possess,  even  as  all  the  dramatists,  how- 
ever worthless^  had,  as  Scott  remarks,  something 
great  in  their  style.  Education,  which  was  to 
give  us  so  much,  only  makes  us  wonder  at  the 
untutored  excellence  of  the  common  taste  in  Eliza- 
beth's time,  that  had  to  be  addressed  in  language 


€li^eibttl^m  ^ons$. 


of  a  lofty  pitch  at  the  play^  and  that  even  in 
tavern-catches  demanded  and  received  something 
exquisite^  strange^  and  not  to  be  renewed^  till  we 
renew  the  freshness  of  life  a?id  the  joy  of  it. 
The  young  English  Muse  is  like  Sir  Edward 
Dyer's  ''  Phillis,  the  Fair  Shepherdess,''  — 

"  My  Phillis  hath  the  morning  sun 
At  first  to  look  upon  herj 
And  Phillis  hath  morn-waking  birds 
Her  rising  still  io  honor. ''"' 

But  now  the  English  Muse  may  sing  with 
GascoignCy  — 

"  First,  lullaby  my  youthful  years, 
It  is  now  time  to  go  to  bed; 
For  crooked  age  and  hoary  hairs 
Have  now  their  haven  within  my  head. 
With  lullaby  then  youth  be  still. 
With  lullaby  content  thy  will. 
Since  courage  quails  and  comes  behind; 
Go,  sleep,  and  so  beguile  thy  mind.^'' 

The  revolving  years  will  bring  back  again,  some 
day,  a  world  that  is  glad  and  clean,  and  not  over- 
thronged  and  not  overdriven.  Some  later  gener- 
ation will  awake  when,  as  Mr,  Bridges  sings,  — 


S'tttrotiutttom 


"  The  merry  elves  and  fairies 

Are  in  the  woods  again. 
And  play  their  mad  vagaries 

And  wanton  freaks  amain. 
'  Come  out,  come  out,  good  mortals^  come  /  * 

they  cry^  *  and  share 
Our  pleasures  rare  P 
And  I  that  love  gay  June 
Am  out  ere  morn  has  driven 
Her  loitering  star  from  heaven^ 
Or  woke  the  first  bird's  tuneP 

Then  we  shall  have  courtly  singers,  like  Love- 
lace and  Raleigh,  and  cotmtry  pleasures  of  pipe 
and  tabor.  Then  England  shall  not  be  under 
a  pall  of  smoke ;  the  bass  viol  and  the  lute  and 
the  virginals  shall  be  musical,  —  but  the  jingle 
of  the  piano  shall  not  be  heard  in  the  land,  and 
there  shall  be  no  hurdy-gtirdies  any  more  for- 
ever. Meanwhile,  ive  **  have  our  book  of  songs 
and  sonnets  here'' 

Andrew  Lang. 

1,  Marloes  Road, 
London. 


ZXXl 


ElisaWtban  ♦  ^onig^ 


flaunt  they- inphrasfes/ine , 
EnamTingwith  pied  J  lowers  their  thoupMs 
c^  gold." 

THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESIE 


w 


JOHN  HARYNGTON. 

«534-i58«. 

A  HEART  OF  STONE. 

HENCE  comes  my  love  ?      O  heart,  disclose  ! 
'T  was  from  cheeks  that  shame  the  rose ; 
From  lips  that  spoil  the  ruby's  praise; 
From  eyes  that  mock  the  diamond's  blaze. 

Whence  comes  my  love  ?     As  freely  own  : 
Ah,  me  !      'T  was  from  a  heart  of  stone. 

The  blushing  cheek  speaks  modest  mind ; 

The  lips,  befitting  words  most  kind ; 

The  eye  does  tempt  to  love's  desire, 

And  seems  to  say  't  is  Cupid's  fire  : 

Yet  all  so  fair  but  speak  my  moan, 
Sith  nought  doth  say  the  heart  of  stone. 


€It5a6etl)att  ^ong^B?* 


Why  thus,  my  love,  so  kind  bespeak 

Sweet  lip,  sweet  eyes,  sweet  blushing  cheek, 

Yet  not  a  heart  to  save  my  pain? 

O  Venus  !    take  thy  gifts  again  ! 

Make  not  so  fair  to  cause  our  moan. 
Or  make  a  heart  that  's  like  your  own  1 


GEORGE  GASCOIGNE. 


LULLABY   OF  A   LOVER. 


1537-1577. 


OING  lullaby,  as  women  do 

Wherewith  they  bring  their  babes  to  rest ; 
And  lullaby  can  I  sing  too, 

As  womanly  as  can  the  best. 
With  lullaby  they  still  the  child; 
And  if  I  be  not  much  beguiled, 
Full  many  wanton  babes  have  I 
Which  must  be  stilled  with  lullaby. 


First,  lullaby  my  youthful  years ; 

It  is  now  time  to  go  to  bed, 
For  crooked  age  and  hoary  hairs 

Have  now  the  haven  within  my  head. 


€lt;a&et{|an  ^ong^. 


With  lullaby  then  youth  be  still, 
With  lullaby  content  thy  will, 
Since  courage  quails,  and  comes  behind; 
Go,  sleep !   and  so  beguile  thy  mind. 

Next,  lullaby  my  gazing  eyes, 

Which  wonted  were  to  glance  apace. 
For  every  glass  may  now  suffice 

To  show  the  furrows  in  my  face. 
With  lullaby  then  wink  a  while. 
With  lullaby  your  looks  beguile ; 
Let  no  fair  face,  nor  beauty  bright, 
Entice  you  eft  with  vain  delight. 

And  lullaby  my  wanton  will. 

Let  reason's  rule  now  reign  my  thought. 
Since  all  too  late  I  find  by  skill 
How  dear  I  have  thy  fancies  bought. 
With  lullaby  now  take  thine  ease, 
With  lullaby  thy  doubts  appease; 
For  trust  to  this,  —  if  thou  be  still, 
My  body  shall  obey  thy  will. 


<6e0r0e  4Ba$msnt. 


A  STRANGE  PASSION  OF  A  LOVER. 

A  MID  my  bale  I  bathe  in  bliss, 

I  swim  in  heaven,  I  sink  in  hell : 

I  find  amends  for  every  miss, 

And  yet  my  moan  no  tongue  can  tell. 

I  live  and  love   (what  would  you  more?) 

As  never  lover  lived  before. 

I  laugh  sometimes  with  little  lust, 

So  jest  I  oft  and  feel  no  joy; 
Mine  eye  is  builded  all  on  trust. 

And  yet  mistrust  breeds  mine  annoy. 
I  live  and  lack,  I  lack  and  have; 
I  have  and  miss  the  thing  I  crave. 

These  things  seem  strange,  yet  are  they  true. 

Believe  me,  sweet,  my  state  is  such. 
One  pleasure  which  I  would  eschew 

Both  slakes  my  grief  and  breeds  my  grutch ; 
So  doth  one  pain  which  I  would  shun 

Renew  my  joys  where  grief  begun. 


€ii;al)et{|an  S>ms$. 


Then  like  the  lark  that  passed  the  night 
In  heavy  sleep  with  cares  oppressed. 

Yet  when  she  spies  the  pleasant  light 

She  sends  sweet  notes  from  out  her  breast. 

So  sing  I  now  because  I  think 

How  joys  approach,  when  sorrows  shrink. 

And  as  fair  Philomene  again 

Can  watch  and  sing  when  others  sleep, 
And  taketh  pleasure  in  her  pain 

To  wray  the  woe  that  makes  her  weep : 
So  sing  I  now  for  to  bewray 

The  loathsome  life  I  lead  alway. 

The  which  to  thee,  dear  wench,  I  write, 

Thou  know'st  my  mirth  but  not  my  moan : 

I  pray  God  grant  thee  deep  delight. 
To  live  in  joys  when  I  am  gone. 

I  cannot  live ;    it  will  not  be : 

I  die  to  think  to  part  from  thee. 


SIR  EDWARD  DYER. 

1550-1607. 

TO  PHILLIS    THE  FAIR  SHEPHERDESS. 

1\/IY  Phillis  hath  the  morning  Sun 
At  first  to  look  upon  her : 
And  Phillis  hath  morn-waking  birds 

Her  rising  still  to  honour. 
My  Phillis  hath  prime  feathered  flowers, 

That  smile  when  she  treads  on  them : 
And  Phillis  hath  a  gallant  flock 

That  leaps  since  she  doth  own  them. 
But  Phillis  hath  too  hard  a  heart, 

Alas,  that  she  should  have  it ! 
It  yields  no  mercy  to  desert. 

Nor  grace  to  those  that  crave  it. 


<lEIt;afietl^an  ^ong^. 


Sweet  Sun,  when  thou  look'st  on, 

Pray  her  regard  my  moan  ! 
Sweet  birds,  when  you  sing  to  her. 

To  yield  some  pity  woo  her ! 
Sweet  flowers  that  she  treads  on. 

Tell  her  her  beauty  dreads  one. 
And  if  in  life  her  love  she  nill  agree  me, 
Pray  her  before  I  die  she  will  come  see  me. 


JOHN   LYLY. 


DAPHNE. 


X554-i6oa 


jy/lY  Daphne's  hair  is  twisted  gold, 

Bright  stars  a-piece  her  eyes  do  hold; 
My  Daphne's  brow  enthrones  the  graces, 
My  Daphne's  beauty  stains  all  faces; 
On  Daphne's  cheek  grow  rose  and  cherry. 
On  Daphne's  lip  a  sweeter  berry; 
Daphne's  snowy  hand  but  touched  does  melt, 
And  then  no  heavenlier  warmth  is  felt. 
My  Daphne's  voice  tunes  all  the  spheres. 
My  Daphne's  music  charms  all  ears; 
Fond  am  I  thus  to  sing  her  praise, 
These  glories  now  are  turned  to  bays. 


II 


€Ii5a6etI)an  ^ong^. 


SYRINX, 

DAN'S  Syrinx  was  a  girl  indeed, 

Though  now  she  's  turned  into  a  reed ; 
From  that  dear  reed  Pan's  pipe  does  come, 
A  pipe  that  strikes  Apollo  dumb. 
Nor  flute,  nor  lute,  nor  gittern  can 
So  chant  it  as  the  pipe  of  Pan ; 
Cross-gartered  swains  and  dairy  girls, 
With  faces  smug  and  round  as  pearls. 
When  Pan's  shrill  pipe  begins  to  play, 
With  dancing  wear  out  night  and  day; 
The  bagpipe's  drone  his  hum  lays  by. 
When  Pan  sounds  up  his  minstrelsy. 
His  minstrelsy  !    Oh,  base  !    this  quill. 
Which  at  my  mouth  with  wind  I  fill, 
Puts  me  in  mind,  though  her  I  miss. 
That  still  my  Syrinx's  lips  I  kiss. 


12 


sm  atpip. 


SONG    TO  APOLLO. 

QING  to  Apollo,  god  of  day, 

Whose  golden  beams  with  morning  play, 
And  make  her  eyes  so  brightly  shine, 
Aurora's  face  is  called  divine  ! 
Sing  to  Phoebus  and  that  throne 
Of  diamonds  which  he  sits  upon, 
lo,  paeans  let  us  sing 
To  Physic's  and  to  Poesy's  king ! 

Crown  all  his  altars  with  bright  fire. 
Laurels  bind  about  his  lyre, 
A  Daphnean  coronet  for  his  head, 
The  Muses  dance  about  his  bed  ! 
When  on  his  ravishing  lute  he  plays, 
Strew  his  temple  round  with  bays  ! 
lo,  paeans  let  us  sing 
To  the  glittering  Delian  king ! 


13 


€lt$alietl)dn  ^ong^. 


o 


LOVE'S   COLLEGE. 

CUPID  !    monarch  over  kings, 
Wherefore  hast  thou  feet  and  wings? 
It  is  to  show  how  swift  thou  art 
When  thou  woundest  a  tender  heart ! 
Thy  wings  being  clipped,  and  feet  held  still. 
Thy  bow  so  many  could  not  kill. 

It  is  all  one  in  Venus'  wanton  school 
Who  highest  sits,  the  wise  man  or  the  fooL 
Fools  in  love's  college 
Have  far  more  knowledge 
To  read  a  woman  over. 
Than  a  neat  prating  lover: 
Nay,  't  is  confessed 
That  fools  please  women  best 


14 


S^ofttt  ILpIp. 


SPRINGS   IVELCOME. 

"\  17 HAT  bird  so  sings,  yet  so  does  wail? 
Oh  't  is  the  ravished  nightingale. 
''Jug,  jug,  jug,  jug,  tereu,"  she  cries, 
And  still  her  woes  at  midnight  rise. 
Brave  prick-song  !    who  is  't  now  we  hear? 
None  but  the  lark  so  shrill  and  clear; 
How  at  heaven's  gates  she  claps  her  wings. 
The  morn  not  waking  till  she  sings. 
Hark,  hark,  with  what  a  pretty  throat 
Poor  robin  redbreast  tunes  his  note ; 
Hark,  how  the  jolly  cuckoos  sing, — 
Cuckoo  to  welcome  in  the  spring ! 
Cuckoo  to  welcome  in  the  spring! 


T5 


€It?a6etl)att  ^ons^. 


CUPID  AND  CAMPASPE, 

A^UPID  and  my  Campaspe  played 
At  cards  for  kisses :    Cupid  paid. 
He  stakes   his  quiver,  bow,  and  arrows. 
His  mother's  doves,  and  team  of  sparrows : 
Loses  them,  too.     Then  down  he  throws 
The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 
Growing  on  's  cheek  (but  none  knows  how)  ; 
With  these,  the  crystal  of  his  brow. 
And  then  the  dimple  of  his  chin : 
All  these  did  my  Campaspe  win. 
At  last  he  set  her  both  his  eyes : 
She  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 
O  Love  !    has  she  done  this  to  thee  ? 
What  shall,  alas !   become  of  me  ? 


i6 


f  ol)tt  Eplp. 


ARROIVS  FOR  LOVE. 

I\  A  Y  shag-hair  Cyclops,  come,  let  's  ply 
The  Lamnion  hammers  lustily ! 
By  my  wife's  sparrows, 
I  swear  these  arrows 
Shall  singing  fly 
Through  many  a  wanton's  eye. 
These  headed  are  with  golden  blisses. 
These  silver  ones  feathered  with  kisses; 
But  this  of  lead 
Strikes  a  clown  dead, 
When  in  a  dance 
He  falls  in  a  trance, 
To  see  his  black-browed  lass  not  buss  him, 
And  then  whines  out  for  death  t'  untruss  him. 
So !   so  !   our  work  being  done,  let  's  play. 
Holiday  !   boys,  cry  holiday  ! 


17 


€it;a&et|)an  ^ong^. 


CUPID    ARRAIGhlED. 

FROM   "GALATEA." 

ry^y  YES  !    Oh,  yes  !    if  any  maid 

Whom  leering  Cupid  has  betrayed 
To  frowns  of  spite,  to  eyes  of  scorn; 
And  would  in  madness  now  see  torn 
The  boy  in  pieces,  —  let  her  come 
Hither,  and  lay  on  him  her  doom. 

Oh,  yes  !    Oh,  yes  !    has  any  lost 

A  heart,  which  many  a  sigh  hath  cost? 

Is  any  cozened  of  a  tear. 

Which  as  a  pearl  disdain  does  wear? 

Here  stands  the  thief!  —  let  her  but  come 

Hither,  and  lay  on  him  her  doom. 

Is  any  one  undone  by  fire. 

And  turned  to  ashes  through  desire? 

i8 


foim  itpip. 


Did  ever  any  lady  weep, 

Being  cheated  of  her  golden  sleep, 

Stol'n  by  sick  thoughts?  —  the  pirate  *s  found, 

And  in  her  tears  he  shall  be  drowned. 

Read  his  indictment,  let  him  hear 
What  he  's  to  trust  to.     Boy,  give  ear ! 


19 


FULKE  GREVILLE  (LORD  BROOKE). 

i554?-x638. 
MYRA, 

T  WITH  whose  colors  Myra  drest  her  head, 

I  that  ware  posies  of  her  own  hand-making, 
I  that  mine  own  name  in  the  chimnies  read, 
By  Myra  finely  wrought  ere  I  was  waking : 
Must  I  look  on,  in  hope  time  coming  may 
With  change   bring  back  my  turn  again   to 
play? 

I  that  on  Sunday  at  the  church-stile  found 

A  garland  sweet  with  true-love-knots  in  flowers. 

Which  I  to  wear  about  mine  arms  was  bound, 
That  each  of  us  might  know  that  all  was  ours  : 


20 


^1^ 


f  ulfee  oBrebflle. 


Must  I  now  lead  an  idle  life  in  wishes, 
And  follow  Cupid  for  his  loaves  and  fishes? 

I  that  did  wear  the  ring  her  mother  left, 

I  for  whose  love  she  gloried  to  be  blamed, 
I  with  whose  eyes  her  eyes  committed  theft, 

I  who  did  make  her  blush  when  I  was  named : 
Must   I  lose   ring,  flowers,  blush,  theft,  and 

go  naked, 
Watching  with  sighs  till  dead  love  be  awaked. 


21 


(SttjaBetl^an  ^ongie?. 


TO   HER   EYES, 

"WOV  little  stars  that  live  in  skies, 
And  glory  in  Apollo's  glory; 
In  whose  aspect  conjoined  lies 

The  heaven's  will  and  nature's  story, — 
Joy  to  be  likened  to  those  eyes, 

Which  eyes  make  all  eyes  glad  or  sorry : 

For  when  you  force  thoughts  from  above, 
These  overrule  your  force  by  love. 

And  thou,  O  Love,  which  in  these  eyes 

Hast  married  reason  with  affection, 
And  made  them  saints  of  beautie's  skyes, 

Where  joys  are  shadows  of  perfection, — 
Lend  me  thy  wings  that  I  may  rise 
Up,  not  by  worth,  but  thy  election : 

For  I  have  vowed  in  strangest  fashion 
To  love,  and  never  seek  compassion. 


32 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 


ABSENCE. 


1554-1586. 


r\  DEAR  life  when  shall  it  be 

That  mine  eyes  thine  eyes  shall  see, 
And  in  them  thy  mind  discover 
Whether  absence  have  had  force 
Thy  remembrance  to  divorce 
From  the  image  of  thy  lover? 

Or  if  I  myself  find  not, 

After  parting,  aught  forgot 

Nor  debarred  from  Beauty's  treasure, 

Let  not  tongue  aspire  to  tell 

In  what  high  joys  I  shall  dwell : 

Only  thought  aims  at  the  pleasure. 


23 


Cttjafietftan  ^me$. 


Thought,  therefore  I  will  send  thee 
To  take  up  the  place  for  me : 
Long  I  will  not  after  tarry; 
There,  unseen,  thou  mayst  be  bold 
Those  fair  wonders  to  behold, 
Which  in  them  my  hopes  do  carry. 

Thought,  see  thou  no  place  forbear; 
Enter  bravely  everywhere, 
Seize  on  all  to  her  belonging ! 
But  if  thou  wouldst  guarded  be, 
Fearing  her  beams,  take  with  thee 
Strength  of  liking,  rage  of  longing. 

Think  of  that  most  grateful  time, 
When  my  leaping  heart  will  climb 
In  my  lips  to  have  his  biding, 
There  those  roses  for  to  kiss 
Which  do  breathe  a  sugared  bliss. 
Opening  rubies,  pearls  dividing. 


24 


^it  5^l)ittp  J^jtinep. 


Think,  think  of  those  dallyings, 
When  with  dove-Uke  murmurings, 
With  glad  moaning,  passed  anguish, 
We  change  eyes,  and  heart  for  heart, 
Each  to  other  do  depart. 
Joying  till  joy  makes  us  languish. 

O  my  thought !   my  thoughts  surcease. 

Thy  delights  my  woes  increase, 

My  life  melts  with  too  much  thinking ! 

Think  no  more,  but  die  in  me, 

Till  thou  shalt  revived  be. 

At  her  lips  my  nectar  drinking. 


25 


NICHOLAS  BRETON. 


PHILLIDA  AhID   CORYDON. 


X555-1624. 


N  the  merry  month  of  May, 

In  a  mom  by  break  of  day, 
Forth  I  walked  by  the  wood- side, 
When  as  May  was  in  his  pride : 
There  I  spi^d  all  alone 
Phillida  and  Corydon. 
Much  ado  there  was,  God  wot; 
He  would  love  and  she  would  not. 
She  said,  "  Never  man  was  true ; " 
He  said,  "None  was  false  to  you." 
He  said  he  had  loved  her  long; 
She  said,  Love  should  have  no  wrong. 


26 


I^icljola^  ^tttm. 


Corydon  would  kiss  her  then; 
She  said,  Maids  must  kiss  no  men 
Till  they  did  for  good  and  all. 
Then  she  made  the  shepherd  call 
All  the  heavens  to  witness  truth 
Never  loved  a  truer  youth. 
Thus  with  many  a  pretty  oath, 
Yea  and  nay,  and  faith  and  troth, 
Such  as  silly  shepherds  use 
When  they  still  will  love  abuse, — 
Love,  which  had  been  long  deluded. 
Was  with  kisses  sweet  concluded; 
And  Phillida,  with  garlands  gay, 
Was  made  the  lady  of  the  May. 


27 


THOMAS  LODGE. 

ROSALIND'S  MADRIGAL 

OVE  in  my  bosom  like  a  bee 
■^      Doth  suck  his  sweet; 
Now  with  his  wings  he  plays  with  me, 

Now  with  his  feet. 
Within  mine  eyes  he  makes  his  nest; 
His  bed,  amidst  my  tender  breast; 
My  kisses  are  his  daily  feast; 
And  yet  he  robs  me  of  my  rest, — 
Ah  !   wanton,  will  ye  ? 

And  if  I  sleep,  then  percheth  he 

With  pretty  flight. 
And  makes  his  pillow  of  my  knee 

The  livelong  night. 


1556-1625, 


'  *,   >,    > 


€^nma$  %tit^st. 


Strike  I  my  lute,  he  tunes  the  string; 
He  music  plays,  if  so  I  sing; 
He  lends  me  every  lovely  thing; 
Yet  cruel  he,  my  heart  doth  sting, — 
Whist,  wanton,  still  ye! 


Else  I  with  roses  every  day 

Will  whip  you  hence ; 
And  bind  you,  when  you  long  to  play, 

For  your  offence. 
I  '11  shut  mine  eyes  to  keep  you  in, 
I  '11  make  you  fast  it  for  your  sin, 
I  '11  count  your  power  not  worth  a  pin, 
Alas !   what  hereby  shall  I  win, 
If  he  gainsay  me? 


What  if  I  beat  the  wanton  boy 

With  many  a  rod? 
He  will  repay  me  with  annoy, 

Because  a  god. 


29 


€li$abtt^an  M>ms$. 


Then  sit  thou  safely  on  my  knee, 
And  let  thy  bower  my  bosom  be; 
Lurk  in  mine  eyes,  I  like  of  thee; 
O  Cupid,  so  thou  pity  me, 

Spare  not,  but  play  thee. 


€t)oma^  Xotise« 


THE  DECEITFUL   MISTRESS. 

IVTOW  I  find  thy  looks  were  feigned, 
Quickly  lost,  and  quickly  gained; 
Soft  thy  skin  like  wool  of  weathers. 
Heart  unstable,  light  as  feathers. 
Tongue  untrusty,  subtle-sighted, 
Wanton  will,  with  change  delighted. 
Siren  pleasant,  foe  to  reason, 
Cupid  plague  thee  for  this  treason ! 

Of  thine  eyes  I  made  my  mirror, 
From  thy  beauty  came  mine  error; 
All  thy  words  I  counted  witty, 
All  thy  smiles  I  deemed  pity; 
Thy  false  tears,  that  me  aggrieved, 
First  of  all  my  heart  deceived. 
Siren  pleasant,  foe  to  reason, 
Cupid  plague  thee  for  this  treason ! 

Feigned  acceptance,  when  I  asked; 
Lovely  words,  with  cunning  masked ; 
Holy  vows,  but  heart  unholy ; 
Wretched  man  !    my  tnist  was  folly ! 


31 


<6tt5a6et&an  M>ons$. 


Lily-white,  and  pretty  winking; 

Solemn  vows,  but  sorry  thinking. 
Siren  pleasant,  foe  to  reason, 
Cupid  plague  thee  for  this  treason ! 

Now  I  see,  Oh,  seemly  cruel, 
Oh,  thus  warm  them  at  my  fuel, 
Wit  shall  guide  me  in  this  durance, 
Since  in  love  is  no  assurance ; 
Change  thy  pasture,  take  thy  pleasure, 
Beauty  is  a  fading  treasure. 

Siren  pleasant,  foe  to  reason, 
Cupid  plague  thee  for  thy  treason ! 

Prime  youth  lasts  not,  age  will  follow. 
And  make  white  those  tresses  yellow; 
Wrinkled  face,  for  looks  delightful. 
Shall  acquaint  thee,  dame  despiteful ! 
And  when  time  shall  date  thy  glory. 
Then,  too  late,  thou  wilt  be  sorry. 
Siren  pleasant,  foe  to  reason, 
Cupid  plague  thee  for  this  treason  ! 


32 


€f)omaj0?  Sotige. 


ROS/IUNiyS  DESCRIPTION. 

T   IKE  to  the  clear  in  highest  sphere, 
Where  all  imperial  glory  shines, 
Of  self-same  color  is  her  hair, 
Whether  unfolded  or  in  twines : 
Heigho,  fair  Rosalind  ! 

Her  eyes  are  sapphires  set  in  snow, 
Refining  heaven  by  every  wink; 

The  gods  do  fear  when  as  they  glow. 
And  I  do  tremble  when  I  think: 

Heigho,  would  she  were  mine  ! 

Her  cheeks  are  like  the  blushing  cloud 
That  beautifies  Aurora's  face, 

Or  like  the  silver,  crimson  shroud 

That  Phoebe's  smiling  looks  doth  grace 
Heigho,  fair  Rosalind ! 


33 


^li^ttfyan  M^ms^. 


Her  lips  are  like  two  budded  roses, 
Whom  ranks  of  lilies  neighbor  nigh, 

Within  which  bounds  she  balm  incloses 
Apt  to  entice  a  deity: 

Heigho,  would  she  were  mine  ! 

Her  neck  like  to  a  stately  tower, 

Where  Love  himself  imprisoned  lies, 

To  watch  for  glances  every  hour, 
From  her  divine  and  sacred  eyes : 
Heigho,  fair  Rosalind ! 

Her  paps  are  centres  of  delight, 

Her  breasts  are  orbs  of  heavenly  frame. 
Where  Nature  moulds  the  dew  of  light, 

To  feed  Perfection  with  the  same  : 
Heigho,  would  she  were  mine  ! 

With  orient  pearl,  with  ruby  red. 

With  marble  white,  with  sapphire  blue, 

Her  body  every  way  is  fed. 

Yet  soft  in  touch  and  sweet  in  view : 
Heigho,  fair  Rosalind  ! 


34 


€t)Dtnaie^  S^oDge. 


Nature  herself  her  shape  admires, 

Th^  gods  are  wounded  in  her  sight, 

And  Love  forsakes  his  heavenly  fires 

And  at  her  eyes  his  brand  doth  light : 
Heigho,  would  she  were  mine ! 

Then  muse  not,  nymphs,  though  I  bemoan 

The  absence  of  fair  Rosalind, 
Since  for  her  fair  there  is  fairer  none; 
Nor  for  her  virtues  so  divine; 
Heigho,  fair  Rosalind ! 
Heigho,  my  heart,  would  God   that   she  were 
mine ! 


35 


ClijaBetfjan  ^ong^. 


SPRING  AND  MELANCHOLY. 

T^HE  earth,  late  choked  with  showers, 
Is  now  arrayed  in  green; 
Her  bosom  springs  with  flowers. 
The  air  dissolves  her  teen; 

The  heavens  laugh  at  her  glory : 
Yet  bide  I  sad  and  sorry. 

The  woods  are  decked  with  leaves, 

And  trees  are  clothed  gay; 
And  Flora  crowned  with  sheaves 
With  oaken  boughs  doth  play, 
Where  I  am  clad  in  black 
In  token  of  my  wrack. 

The  birds  upon  tne  trees 

Do  sing  with  pleasant  voices. 
And  chant  in  their  degrees 

Their  loves  and  lucky  choices; 

When  I,  whilst  they  are  singing, 
With  sighs  mine  arms  am  wringing. 

36 


€l)oma^  itotige* 


The  thrushes  seek  the  shade. 

And  I  my  fatal  grave; 
Their  flight  to  heaven  is  made, 
My  walk  on  earth  I  have; 

They  free,  I  thrall;   they  jolly, 
I  sad  and  pensive  wholly. 


<CIi;a]^etI)dn  ,^ongie?« 


LOVE'S   IVANTONNESS. 

¥   OVE  guides  the  roses  of  thy  lips, 
And  flies  about  them  like  a  bee; 
If  I  approach,  he  forward  skips. 
And  if  I  kiss,  he  stingeth  me. 

Love  in  thme  eyes  doth  build  his  bower, 
And  sleeps  within  their  pretty  shine ; 

And  if  I  look  the  boy  will  lower, 

And  from  their  orbs  shoot  shafts  divine. 

Love  works  thy  heart  within  his  fire. 
And  in  my  tears  doth  firm  the  same; 

And  if  I  tempt  it  will  retire. 

And  of  my  plaints  doth  make  a  game. 

Love,  let  me  cull  her  choicest  flowers. 
And  pity  me,  and  calm  her  eye ; 

Make  soft  her  heart,  dissolve  her  lowers. 
Then  I  will  praise  thy  deity. 


38 


€||oma^  Sotige. 


DO  ME  RIGHT,  AND  DO  ME  REASON. 

FROM  "A  LOOKING-GLASS  FOR  LONDON  AND  ENGLAND." 

OEAUTY,  alas !   where  wast  thou  bom, 
Thus  to  hold  thyself  m  scorn? 
Whenas  Beauty  kissed  to  woo  thee, 
Thou  by  Beauty  dost  undo  me : 

Heigh-ho  !   despise  me  not. 

I  and  thou  in  sooth  are  one, — 
Fairer  thou,  I  fairer  none; 
Wanton  thou,  and  wilt  thou,  wanton. 
Yield  a  cruel  heart  to  plant  on? 
Do  me  right,  and  do  me  reason; 
Cruelty  is  cursed  treason: 

Heigh-ho  !    I  love.     Heigh-ho  !  I  love. 

Heigh-ho  !   and  yet  he  eyes  me  not. 


39 


ROBERT  GREENE. 


MENAPHON'S    SONG. 


1560  P-I592. 


OOME  say  Love, 
Foolish  Love, 

Doth  rule  and  govern  all  the  godsj 
I  say  Love, 
Inconstant  Love, 

Sets  men's  senses  far  at  odds. 
Some  swear  Love, 
Smoothed-faced  Love, 

Is  sweetest  sweet  that  man  can  have; 
I  say  Love, 
Sour  Love, 

Makes  virtue  yield  as  beauty's  slave. 
A  bitter  sweet,  a  folly  worst  of  all, 
That  forceth  wisdom  to  be  folly's  thrall. 


titjibttt  dBttmt. 


Love  is  sweet ! 
Wherein  sweet? 

In  fading  pleasures  that  do  pain. 
Beauty  sweet ! 
Is  that  sweet 

That  yieldeth  sorrow  for  a  gain? 
If  Love  's  sweet, 
Herein  sweet. 

That  minutes'  joys  are  monthly  woes. 
'T  is  not  sweet, 
That  is  sweet, 

Nowhere  but  where  repentance  grows. 
Then  love  who  list,  if  beauty  be  so  sour; 
Labor  for  me,  Love  rest  in  prince's  bower. 


41 


^Ii5a&ett)an  ^ms^. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  H^IFE'S  SONG, 

A  H,  what  is  love?      It  is  a  pretty  thing. 
As  sweet  unto  a  shepherd  as  a  king. 
And  sweeter,  too; 
For  kings  have  cares  that  wait  upon  a  crown, 
And  cares  can  make  the  sweetest  love  to  frown. 
Ah  then,  ah  then. 
If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain, 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain? 

His  flocks  are  folded;   he  comes  home  at  night, 
As  merry  as  a  king  in  his  delight, 

And  merrier,  too; 
For  kings  bethink  them  what  the  state  require, 
Where  shepherds,  careless,  carol  by  the  fire. 
Ah  then,  ah  then. 
If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain, 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain? 

42 


Mohttt  45tttnt. 


He  kisseth  first,  then  sits  as  blithe  to  eat 

His  cream  and  curds,  as  doth  the  king  his  meat. 

And  blither,  too; 
For  kings  have  often  fears  when  they  do  sup. 
Where  shepherds  dread  no  poison  in  their  cup. 
Ah  then,  ah  then, 
If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain, 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain? 

To  bed  he  goes,  as  wanton  then,  I  ween. 
As  is  a  king  in  dalliance  with  a  queen; 

More  wanton,  too, — 
For  kings  have  many  griefs  affects  to  move. 
Where  shepherds  have  no  greater  grief  than  love. 
Ah  then,  ah  then. 
If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain. 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain? 

Upon  his  couch  of  straw  he  sleeps  as  sound 
As  doth  the  king  upon  his  beds  of  down ; 

More  sounder,  too, — 
For  cares  cause  kings  full  oft  their  sleep  to  spill, 
Where  weary  shepherds  lie  and  snort  their  fill. 


43 


€It;a&ett)an  M>onsfi. 


Ah  then,  ah  then, 
If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain. 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain? 

Thus,  with  his  wife,  he  spends  the  year  as  blithe 
As  doth  the  king  at  every  tide  or  sithe. 

And  blither,  too; 
For  kings  have  wars  and  broils  to  take  in  hand. 
Where  shepherds  laugh  and  love  upon  the  land. 
Ah  then,  ah  then. 
Since  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain, 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain. 


44 


iSobert  <&tttnt. 


CUPID'S  INGRATITUDE. 

i^^UPID  abroad  was  'lated  in  the  night, 

^^    His  wings  were  wet  with  ranging  in  the  rain ; 

Harbor  he  sought ;    to  me  he  took  his  flight 

To  dry  his  plumes.    I  heard  the  boy  complain; 
I  oped  the  door,  and  granted  his  desire; 
I  rose  myself,  and  made  the  wag  a  fire. 

Looking  more  narrow,  by  the  fire's  flame, 
I  spied  his  quiver  hanging  by  his  back; 

Doubting  the  boy  might  my  misfortune  frame, 
I  would  have  gone,  for  fear  of  further  wrack : 

But  what  I  dread  did  me,  poor  wretch,  betide, 

For  forth  he  drew  an  arrow  from  his  side. 

He  pierced  the  quick,  and  I  began  to  start; 

A  pleasing  wound,  but  that  it  was  too  high : 
His  shaft  procured  a  sharp,  yet  sugared  smart. 

Away  he  flew;   for  why,  his  wings  were  dry; 
But  left  the  arrow  sticking  in  my  breast, 
That  sore  I  grieved  I  welcomed  such  a  guest. 


45 


€It5a{iet{|an  ^ong^. 


INFIDA'S   SONG. 


QWEET  Adon,  dar'st  not  glance  thine  eye 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 
Upon  thy  Venus  that  must  die? 

Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me; 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 


See  how  sad  thy  Venus  lies, 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Love  in  heart,  and  tears  in  eyes, 
Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me; 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami  ? 

Thy  face  is  fair  as  Paphos'  brooks, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Wherein  Fancy  baits  her  hooks; 
Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me ; 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 


»        >    >  >  : 


iSobert  ^Breene* 


Thy  cheeks  Uke  cherries  that  do  grow, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Amongst  the  western  mounts  of  snow, 
Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me; 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Thy  lips  vermilion,  full  of  love, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Thy  neck  as  silver- white  as  dove; 
Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me ; 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Thine  eyes  like  flames  of  holy  fires, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Bum  all  my  thoughts  with  sweet  desires; 
Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me; 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

All  thy  beauties  sting  my  heart, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 


47 


€{i;dtietl^an  ^onq^. 


I  must  die  through  Cupid's  dart; 

Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me; 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

Wilt  thou  let  thy  Venus  die? 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 
Adon  were  unkind,  say  I, 

Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me; 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami  ? 

To  let  fair  Venus  die  for  woe, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

That  doth  love  sweet  Adon  so; 
Je  vous  en  prie,  pity  me; 

N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 
N  'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  ami? 


SAMUEL   DANIEL. 


LOVE. 


1562-1619. 


T   OVE  is  a  sickness  full  of  woes 
All  remedies  refusing; 
A  plant  that  with  most  cutting  grows, 
Most  barren  with  best  using. 

Why  so? 
More  we  enjoy  it,  more  it  dies; 
If  not  enjoyed  it  sighing  cries. 
Hey,  ho! 


49 


€lt^tt^m  ^ons$. 


Love  is  a  torment  of  the  mind, 

A  tempest  everlasting; 
And  Jove  hath  made  it  of  a  kind 
Not  well,  nor  full,  nor  fasting. 

Why  so? 
More  we  enjoy  it,  more  it  dies; 
If  not  enjoyed  it  sighing  cries, 
Hey,  ho  1 


^amuri  2DameL 


FROM  ''HYMEN'S   TRIUMPHS 

A  H,  I  remember  well  (and  how  can  I 

But  evermore  remember  well)  when  first 
Our  flame  began ;    when  scarce  we  knew  what  was 
The  flame  we  felt;    when  as  we  sat  and  sighed, 
And  looked  upon  each  other,  and  conceived 
Not  what  we  ail'd,  —  yet  something  we  did  ail; 
And  yet  were  well,  and  yet  we  were  not  well; 
And  what  was  our  disease  we  could  not  tell. 
Then  would  we  kiss,  then  sigh,  then  look :  and  thus 
In  that  first  garden  of  our  simpleness 
We  spent  our  childhood.     But  when  years  began 
To  reap  the  fruit  of  knowledge,  ah,  how  then 
Would  she  with  graver  looks,  with  sweet  stem  brow 
Check  my  presumption  and  my  forwardness; 
Yet  still  would  give  me  flowers,  still  would  me  show 
What  she  would  have  me,  yet  not  have  me  know. 


(eit5a6etl)att  M>ons$. 


EIDOLA. 

A  RE  they  shadows  that  we  see  ? 
And  can  shadows  pleasure  give? 
Pleasures  only  shadows  be, 
Cast  by  bodies  we  conceive, 
And  are  made  the  things  we  deem 
In  those  figures  which  they  seem. 

But  these  pleasures  vanish  fast 
Which  by  shadows  are  exprest; 
Pleasures  are  not  if  they  last, 
In  their  passage  is  their  best: 
Gloiy  is  most  bright  and  gay 
In  a  flash,  and  so  away. 

Feed  apace  then,  greedy  eyes. 

On  the  wonder  you  behold; 

Take  it  sudden  as  it  flies. 

Though  you  take  it  not  to  hold : 

When  your  eyes  have  done  their  part, 

Thought  must  length  it  in  the  heart. 
\ 

52 


Samuel  2DdmeL 


EYES,  HIDE  MY   LOVE. 

pYES,  hide  my  love,  and  do  not  show 
To  any  but  to  her  my  notes, 
Who  only  doth  that  cipher  know- 
Wherewith  we  pass  our  secret  thoughts 
Belie  your  looks  in  others'  sight, 
And  wrong  yourselves  to  do  her  right. 


53 


MICHAEL   DRAYTON. 


TO  HIS   COY  LOVE. 


i563-i63«. 


T  PRAY  thee,  Love,  love  me  no  more, 

Call  home  the  heart  you  gave  me; 
I  but  in  vain  that  saint  adore, 

That  can,  but  will  not  save  me : 
These  poor  half  kisses  kill  me  quite ; 

Was  ever  man  thus  served? 
Amidst  an  ocean  of  delight 

For  pleasure  to  be  starved. 

Show  me  no  more  those  snowy  breasts, 
With  azure  rivers  branched, 

Where  whilst  my  eye  with  plenty  feasts, 
Yet  is  my  thirst  not  stanched. 


54 


^1 

^^^^^^^^^3 

HPi^^B 

^^P^  \%^^^|^|BE^H 

H[       V      ^  ^^ 

1  ^^HlHii^'t^ 

^^^ 

^i -^ 

^HHHittiiK         TjiT" 

a^icljad  aDtapton. 


O  Tantalus,  thy  pains  ne'er  tell, 
By  me  thou  art  prevented  ; 

'Tis  nothing  to  be  plagued  in  hell, 
But  thus  in  heaven  tormented ! 

Clip  me  no  more  in  those  dear  arras. 

Nor  thy  life's  comfort  call  me ; 
Oh,  these  are  but  too  powerful  charms. 

And  do  but  more  enthrall  me. 
But  see  how  patient  I  am  grown, 

In  all  this  coyle  about  thee; 
Come,  nice  thing,  let  thy  heart  alone, - 

I  cannot  live  without  thee. 


55 


€lx$abttfyan  M>txns$. 


LOyE  BANISHED  HEAVEN. 

T   OVE,  banished  heaven,  in  earth  was  held  in  scorn, 

Wand'ring  abroad  in  need  and  beggary; 
And  wanting  friends,  though  of  a  goddess  born, 
Yet  craved  the  alms  of  such  as  passed  by. 
I,  like  a  man  devout  and  charitable, 
Clothed  the  naked,  lodged  this  wand'ring  guest, 
With  sighs  and  tears  still  furnishing  his  table 
With  what  might  make  the  miserable  blest. 
But  this  ungrateful,  for  my  good  desert. 
Enticed  my  thoughts  against  me  to  conspire, 
Who  gave  consent  to  steal  away  my  heart, 
And  set  my  breast,  his  lodging,  on  a  fire. 

Well,  well,  my  friends,  when  beggars  grow  thus  bold, 
No  marvel  then  though  charity  grow  cold. 


56 


^it^atl  ^taptotu 


DEFENCE   TO  LO^E. 

O  HOOT,  false  Love  !    I  care  not : 
Spend  thy  shafts,  and  spare  not ! 
I  fear  not,  I,  thy  might, 
And  less  I  weigh  thy  spite; 
All  naked,  I  unarm  me : 
If  thou  canst,  now  shoot  and  harm  me  ! 
So  lightly  I  esteem  thee, 
As  now  a  child  I  deem  thee. 

Long  thy  bow  did  fear  me. 
While  thy  pomp  did  blear  me : 
But  now  I  do  perceive 
Thy  art  is  to  deceive; 
And  every  simple  lover 
All  thy  falsehood  can  discover. 
Then  weep,  Love  !    and  be  sorry, 
For  thou  hast  lost  thy  glory. 


57 


THOMAS    HEYWOOD. 


GREETINGS    TO  MY  LOl^E. 


?-i649. 


pACK  clouds  away,  and  welcome  day; 

With  night  we  banish  sorrow; 
Sweet  air,  blow  soft;    mount,  larks,  aloft, 

To  give  my  love  good-morrow! 
Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind. 

Notes  from  the  lark,  I'll  borrow; 
Bird,  prune  thy  wing;    nightingale,  sing, 

To  give  my  love  good-morrow ! 

To  give  my  love  good-morrow, 
Notes  from  them  all  I  '11  borrow. 


»  :  :  >'  ' 


5       J  > 


4*: 


^ 


(  ^: 


Cftoma^  J^eptoooti. 


Wake  from  thy  nest,  robin  red-breast, 
Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow, 

And  from  each  bill  let  music  shrill 
Give  my  fair  love  good- morrow ! 

Blackbird  and  thrush,  in  every  bush, 
Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow, 

You  pretty  elves,  amongst  yourselves, 
Sing  my  fair  love  good- morrow  I 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow, 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow  I 


59 


^It;alietl)an  ^ms$* 


LOVE'S    ECSTASY, 

TTENCE  with  passion,  sighs,  and  tears. 
Disasters,  sorrows,  cares,  and  fears ! 
See,  my  Love,  my  Love  appears, 

That  thought  himself  exiled. 
Whence  might  all  these  loud  joys  grow, 
Whence  might  mirth  and  banquets  flow. 
But  that  he  's  come,  he  's  come,  I  know? 
Fair  Fortune,  thou  hast  smiled. 

Give  [un]to  these  windows  eyes. 
Daze  the  stars  and  mock  the  skies. 
And  let  us  two,  us  two,  devise 

To  lavish  our  best  treasures : 
Crown  our  wishes  with  content, 
Meet  our  souls  in  sweet  consent. 
And  let  this  night,  this  night,  be  spent 

In  all  abundant  pleasures. 


60 


€I)oma^  I^epiDooti. 


TO   PHYLLIS. 

FROM    "THE    FAIR    MAID   OF   THE   EXCHANGE." 

WE  little  birds  that  sit  and  sing 

Amidst  the  shady  valleys, 
And  see  how  Phyllis  sweetly  walks 

Within  her  garden  alleys; 
Go,  pretty  birds,  about  her  bower; 
Sing,  pretty  birds,  she  may  not  lower: 
Ah  me  !   methinks  I  see  her  frown ; 

Ye  pretty  wantons,  warble. 

Go,  tell  her  through  your  chirping  bills 

As  you  by  me  are  bidden, 
To  her  is  only  known  my  love 

Which  from  the  world  is  hidden. 
Go,  pretty  birds,  and  tell  her  so, 
See  that  your  notes  strain  not  too  low, 
For  still  methinks  I  see  her  frown; 
Ye  pretty  wantons,  warble. 


6i 


€It;a&et{)dn  J^ong^. 


Go,  tune  your  voices*  harmony, 

And  sing  I  am  her  lover; 
Strain  loud  and  sweet,  that  every  note 

With  sweet  content  may  move  her. 
And  she  that  hath  the  sweetest  voice. 
Tell  her  I  will  not  change  my  choice : 
Yet  still  methinks  I  see  her  frown; 

Ye  pretty  wantons,  warble. 

Oh  fly !    make  haste  !    see,  see,  she  falls 

Into  a  pretty  slumber; 
Sing  round  about  her  rosy  bed, 

That  waking  she  may  wonder; 
Say  to  her  *t  is  her  lover  true, 
That  sendeth  love  to  you,  to  you; 
And  when  you  hear  her  kind  reply, 

Return  with  pleasant  warblings. 


62 


CHRISTOPHER    MARLOWE. 

X564-1593. 

THE  PASSIONATE  SHEPHERD    TO  HIS  LOVE. 

f^OME  live  with  me  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dales  and  fields, 
Woods  or  steepy  mountain  yields. 

And  we  will  sit  upon  the  rocks. 
Seeing  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks, 
By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 


And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  roses 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies; 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle 
Embroidered  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle; 

03 


dUi^ahttt^an  M>ons$, 


A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull; 
Fair  Unfed  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold; 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs : 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 

The  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May  morning; 
If  these  dehghts  thy  mind  may  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 


,J   ■>  t    1 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 
TO   SYLVIA. 

FROM    "TWO   GENTLEMEN  OF   VERONA." 

\17H0  is  Sylvia?     What  is  she 

That  all  our  swains  commend  her? 

Holy,  fair,  and  wise  is  she; 

The  heavens  such  grace  did  lend  her 

That  she  might  admired  be. 


1564-1616 


Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair?  — 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness; 

Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair 
To  help  him  of  his  blindness ; 

And  being  helped,  inhabits  there. 


€ti5^etftan  ^ms$. 


Then  to  Sylvia  let  us  sing, 
That  Sylvia  is  excelling; 

She  excels  each  mortal  thing 
Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling; 

To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 


66 


n^illtam  M>^Biit^ptatt. 


SONG. 

FROM    -LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST." 

/^N  a  day  (alack  the  day !) 

^^^     Love,  whose  month  is  ever  May, 

Spied  a  blossom  passing  fair 

Playing  in  the  wanton  air; 

Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind, 

All  unseen,  'gan  passage  find, 

That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 

Wished  himself  the  heaven's  breath. 

"Air,"  quoth  he,  "thy  cheeks  may  blow; 

Air,  would  I  might  triumph  so  ! 

But,  alack,  my  hand  is  sworn 

Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn : 

Vow,  alack,  for  youth  unmeet, 

Youth,  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 

Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me 

That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee ; 

Thou,  for  whom  Jove  would  swear 

Juno  but  an  Ethiop  were, 

And  deny  himself  for  Jove 

Turning  mortal  for  thy  love." 


€li5a6et|)att  ^ms$. 


TO    IMOGEN. 

FROM   "CYMBELINE." 

TTARK,  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 
And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaHced  flowers  that  Hes; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 
To  ope  their  golden  eyes : 
With  everything  that  pretty  is. 
My  lady  sweet,  arise; 
Arise,  arise  ! 


68 


l©tlliam  M>t^akt$ptatt. 


INCONSTANCY. 

FROM   "MUCH    ADO   ABOUT   NOTHING." 

QIGH  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 
Men  were  deceivers  ever; 
One  foot  in  sea,  and  one  on  shore, 
To  one  thing  constant  never : 
Then  sigh  not  so, 
But  let  them  go, 
And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny. 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 
Into  hey  nonny,  nonny ! 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  mo' 
Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy; 
The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so 
Since  summer  first  was  leavy: 
Then  sigh  not  so, 
But  let  them  go. 
And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny. 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 
Into  hey  nonny,  nonny ! 


69 


^M^ttfyan  ^ong^« 


T 


Fj4NCY. 

from  "merchant  of  venice." 

ELL  me  where  is  Fancy  bred, — 

In  the  heart  or  in  the  head? 
How  begot,  how  nourished? 
Reply,  reply. 

It  is  engendered  in  the  eyes, 
With  gazing  fed;   and  Fancy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  lies. 
Let  us  all  ring  Fancy's  knell, 
I'll  begin  it,  —  Ding,  dong,  bell, 
Ding,  dong,  bell. 


70 


IDintdm  ^f^$ikt$vtatt. 


THE  RHYME  OF  WHITE  AND  RED. 

FROM    "LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST." 

TF  she  be  made  of  white  and  red, 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known, 
For  blushing  cheeks  by  faults  are  bred. 

And  fears  by  pale  white  shown : 
Then  if  she  fear,  or  be  to  blame. 
By  this  you  shall  not  know. 
For  still  her  cheeks  possess  the  same, 
Which  native  she  doth  owe. 


<tEft?aBet|ian  M>ons$. 


w 


SPRING. 

FROM    "LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST." 

HEN  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver  white, 
And  cuckoo-buds  of  yellow  hue 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 
The  cuckoo  then  on  every  tree 
Mocks  married  men ;   for  thus  sings  he, 

"  Cuckoo, 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo  !  "  —  Oh  word  of  fear, 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear ! 

When  shepherds  pipe  on  oaten  straws. 

And  merry  larks  are  ploughman's  clocks; 

When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks  and  daws, 

And  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smocks, 

The  cuckoo  then  on  every  tree 

Mocks  married  men;   for  thus  sings  he, 
"  Cuckoo, 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo!"  —  Oh  word  of  fear, 

Unpleasing  to  the  married  ear ! 


72 


I©aiiam  J^fiafee^peate* 


BIRON'S   CANZONET. 

FROM    "LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST." 

TF  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  I  swear  to 
^  love? 

Ah,  never   faith   could   hold,   if  not   to    beauty 
vowed  ! 
Though   to    myself   forsworn,   to   thee    I  '11   faithful 
prove ] 
Those  thoughts  to  me  were  oaks,  to  thee  like 
osiers  bowed. 
Study  his   bias   leaves,   and  makes  his  book   thine 
eyes, 
Where   all   those   pleasures   live   that   art  would 
comprehend. 
If  knowledge    be    the    mark,    to    know    thee    shall 
suffice ; 
Well  learned  is  that  tongue  that  well  can  thee 
commend, 


73 


€Ii;a&ett)an  ^ong^< 


All  ignorant  that  soul  that  sees  thee  without  wonder 
(Which  is  to  me  some  praise,  that  I  thy  parts 
admire)  ; 

Thy  eye  Jove's  lightning  bears,  thy  voice  his  dread- 
ful thunder. 
Which,  not  to  anger  bent,  is  music  and  sweet 
fire. 

Celestial  as  thou  art,  oh  pardon  love  this  wrong, 

That   sings   Heaven's   praise   with   such   an   earthly 
tongue  ! 


m 


74 


H^iHiam  ^^aht^ptatt. 


THE  LOFER'S    TEARS. 

FROM    "LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST." 

OO  sweet  a  kiss  the  golden  sun  gives  not 

To  those  fresh  morning  drops  upon  the  rose,* 
As  thy  eye-beams,  when  their  fresh  rays  have  smote 

The  night  of  dew  that  on  my  cheeks  down  flows ; 
Nor  shines  the  silver  moon  one  half  so  bright 

Through  the  transparent  bosom  of  the  deep. 
As  doth  thy  face  through  tears  of  mine  give  light. 

Thou  shinest  in  every  tear  that  I  do  weep; 
No  drop  but  as  a  coach  doth  carry  thee, 

So  ridest  thou  triumphing  in  my  woe. 
Do  but  behold  the  tears  that  swell  in  me. 

And  they  thy  glory  through  my  grief  will  show. 
But  do  not  love  thyself;    then  thou  wilt  keep 
My  tears  for  glasses,  and  still  make  me  weep. 
O  queen  of  queens,  how  far  dost  thou  excel ! 
No  thought  can  think,  nor  tongue  of  mortal  tell. 


75 


€lx^eibtt^m  ^me$. 


PERJURY   EXCUSED. 

FROM    "LOVE'S    LABOUR'S    LOST." 

T^ID  not  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine  eye, 
*  'Gainst  whom  the  world  cannot  hold  argument, 

Persuade  my  heart  to  this  false  perjury? 

Vows  for  thee  broke  deserve  not  punishment. 
A  woman  I  forswore;   but  I  will  prove, 

Thou  being  a  goddess,  I  forswore  not  thee : 
My  vow  was  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love ; 

Thy  grace  being  gained  cures  all  disgrace  in  me. 
Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapour  is  : 

Then   thou,  fair  sun,  which   on   my   earth   dost 
shine, 
Exhalest  this  vapour- vow ;    in  thee  it  is  ! 

If  broken  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine ; 
If  by  me  broke,  what  fool  is  not  so  wise 
To  lose  an  oath  to  win  a  paradise? 


76 


3©flliam  J^ljafeejefpeate. 


OH,    MISTRESS    MINE. 

FROM    "TWELFTH    NIGHT." 

(^  MISTRESS  mine,  where  are  you  roaming? 
^^^     Oh,  stay  and  hear ;  your  true  love  's  coming, 
That  can  sing  both  high  and  low. 
Trip  no  farther,  pretty  sweeting; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting, 

Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know. 

What  is  love  ?    't  is  not  hereafter ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter; 

What  's  to  come  is  still  unsure. 
In  delay  there  Hes  no  plenty; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth  's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 


77 


aeii5a6etfjan  M^mqg. 


IT  IVAS  A  LOVER  AND  HIS  LASS. 

FROM    "TWELFTH    NIGHT." 

TT  was  a  lover  and  his  lass, 

With  a  hey  and  a  ho  and  a  hey  nonino, 
That  o'er  the  green  cornfield  did  pass 

In  the  spring-time,  the  only  pretty  ring-time, 
When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding-a-ding,  ding; 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 

Between  the  acres  of  the  rye, 

With  a  hey  and  a  ho  and  a  hey  nonino, 
These  pretty  country-folks  would  lie, 

In  the  spring-time,  the  only  pretty  ring-time, 
\Vhen  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding-a-ding,  ding; 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 

This  carol  they  began  that  hour. 

With  a  hey  and  a  ho  and  a  hey  nonino, 

How  that  a  life  was  but  a  flower 

In  the  spring-time,  the  only  pretty  ring-tmie, 

78 


J^illiam  ^ftafee^efpeare* 


When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding-a-ding,  ding; 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 

And  therefore  take  the  present  time 

With  a  hey  and  a  ho  and  a  hey  nonino; 

For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime 

In  the  spring-time,  the  only  pretty  ring-time, 

When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding-a-ding,  ding; 

Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 


SONG. 

FROM    "MEASURE    FOR    MEASURE.' 

'X'AKE,  oh  take  those  lips  away 

That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn ! 
And  those  eyes,  like  break  of  day. 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn ! 
But  my  kisses  bring  again. 
Seals  of  love,  but  sealed  in  vain. 


79 


(Qli^ahtt^n  M>cns$* 


A  BRIDAL  SONG. 

FROM   THE   "TWO   NOBLE   KINSMEN.- 

OOSES,  their  sharp  spines  being  gone, 
Not  royal  in  their  smells  alone, 
But  in  their  hue; 
Maiden  pinks,  of  odour  faint, 
Daisies  smell- less,  yet  most  quaint. 
And  sweet  thyme  true; 

Primrose,  firstborn  child  of  Ver, 
Merry  springtime's  harbinger. 

With  her  bells  dim; 
Oxlips  in  their  cradles  growing, 
Marigolds  on  deathbeds  blowing, 

Larks'-heels  trim. 

All  dear  Nature's  children  sweet 
Lie  'fore  bride  and  bridegroom's  feet. 
Blessing  their  sense  ! 


80 


IBilliam  ^^akt^ptatt. 


Not  an  angel  of  the  air, 
Bird  melodious,  or  bird  fair. 
Be  absent  hence  ! 

The  crow,  the  slanderous  cuckoo,  nor 
The  boding  raven,  nor  chough  hoar, 

Nor  chattering  pie, 
May  on  our  bride-house  perch  or  sing, 
Or  with  them  any  discord  bring, 

But  from  it  fly! 


8i 


^U^alietgan  S>ms$. 


A    WEDLOCK   HYMN. 

FROM    "TWELFTH    NIGHT." 

A17EDDING  is  great  Juno's  crown; 

Oh  blessed  bond  of  board  and  bed  ! 
'T  is  Hymen  peoples  every  town,  — 

High  wedlock  then  be  honoured : 
Honour,  high  honour  and  renown, 

To  Hymen,  god  of  every  town ! 


82 


BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

157&-1625. 
IVEDDING    SONG. 

FROM    "THE   MAID'S    TRAGEDY." 

TTOLD  back  thy  hours,  dark  Night,  till  we  have 
'^  done ! 

The  day  will  come  too  soon; 
Young  maids  will  curse  thee  if  thou  steal'st  away 
And  leav'st  their  losses  open  to  the  day : 

Stay,  stay,  and  hide 

The  blushes  of  the  bride  ! 

Stay,  gentle  Night,  and  with  thy  darkness  cover 

The  kisses  of  her  lover  ! 
Stay,  and  confound  her  tears  and  her  shrill  cryings, 
Her  weak  denials,  vows,  and  often-dyings : 

Stay,  and  hide  all; 

But  help  not,  though  she  call. 


8.3 


aeiijafietljan  M>ms^. 


IVAKE,   GENTLY  WAKE. 

FROM    "WIT   AT   SEVERAL   WEKVQi^^ 

FJAIN  would  I  wake  you,  sweet,  but  fear 
I  should  invite  you  to  worse  cheer; 
In  your  dreams  you  cannot  fare 
Meaner  than  music,  or  compare ; 
None  of  your  slumbers  are  compiled 
Under  the  pleasures  makes  a  child; 
Your  day-delights,  so  well  compact 
That  what  you  think  turns  all  to  act, 
I  'd  wish  my  life  no  better  play 
Your  dream  by  night,  your  thought  by  day 
Wake,  gently  wake, 
Part  softly  from  your  dreams; 
The  morning  flies 
To  your  fair  eyes. 
To  take  her  special  beams. 


84 


25eaumont  anb  flttt^tt. 


SONG  IN   THE   IVOOD. 

FROM    "THE    LITTLE    FRENCH    LAWYER." 

T^HIS  way,  this  way  come,  and  hear. 
You  that  hold  these  pleasures  dear; 
Fill  your  ears  with  our  sweet  sound, 
Whilst  we  melt  the  frozen  ground. 
This  way  come ;  make  haste,  O  Fair ! 
Let  your  clear  eyes  gild  the  air; 
Come,  and  bless  us  with  your  sight: 
This  way,  this  way,  seek  delight ! 


85 


<tEIi;abetJ)an  ^nns^. 


BRIDAL    SONG. 

FROM   "THE   LITTLE    FRENCH    LAWYER." 

f^OME  away!   bring  on  the  bride, 

And  place  her  by  her  lover's  side. 
You  fair  troop  of  maids  attend  her; 
Pure  and  holy  thoughts  befriend  her. 
Blush,  and  wish  you  virgins  all 
Many  such  fair  nights  may  fall. 
Hymen,  fill  the  house  with  joy; 
All  thy  sacred  fires  employ; 
Bless  the  bed  with  holy  love ; 
Now,  fair  orb  of  beauty,  move ! 


S6 


JOHN   FLETCHER. 


SPRING-TIME  AND  LOVE. 


FROM    "VALENTINIAN.' 


lyjOW  the  lusty  spring  is  seen; 

Golden  yellow,  gaudy  blue, 

Daintily  invite  the  view; 
Everywhere,  on  every  green, 
Roses,  blushing  as  they  blow, 

And  enticing  men  to  pull; 
Lilies,  whiter  than  the  snow; 

Woodbines,  of  sweet  honey  full 
AH  love's  emblems,  and  all  cry, 
"  Ladies,  if  not  plucked,  we  die." 


X5Jr6-x625. 


87 


Clijabetftan  ^ong^. 


Yet  the  lusty  spring  has  stayed; 

Blushing  red,  and  purest  white, 

Daintily  to  love  Invite 
Every  woman,  every  maid. 
Cherries,  kissing  as  they  grow. 

And  inviting  men  to  taste  ; 
Apples,  even  ripe  below, 

Winding  gently  to  the  waist: 
All  love's  emblems,  and  all  cry, 
"  Ladies,  if  not  plucked,  we  die." 


II. 

Hear,  ye  ladies  that  despise. 

What  the  mighty  Love  has  done  ! 
Fear  examples,  and  be  wise. 

Fair  CaHston  was  a  nun; 
Leda,  sailing  on  a  stream, 

To  deceive  the  hopes  of  man, 
Love  accounting  but  a  dream, 

Doted  on  a  silver  swan; 
Danae,  in  a  brazen  tower. 
Where  no  love  was,  loved  a  flower. 


88 


^tji^n  fltttf^tv. 


Hear,  ye  ladies  that  are  coy, 

What  the  mighty  Love  can  do  ! 
Fear  the  fierceness  of  the  boy, 

The  chaste  moon  he  makes  to  woo. 
Vesta,  kindling  holy  fires, 

Circled  round  about  with  spies, 
Never  dreaming  loose  desires, 

Doting,  at  the  altar,  dies. 
Ilion  in  a  short  hour,  higher 
He  can  build,  and  once  more  fire. 


89 


(ClijaBetljan  ^ong^* 


TO  MY  MISTRESS'S  EYES. 

FROM    "WOMEN    PLEASED." 

r\  FAIR  sweet  face  !  O  eyes  celestial  bright ! 
^-^^       Twin  stars  in  heaven,  that  now  adorn  the 

night ! 
O  fruitful  lips,  where  cherries  ever  grow ! 
And  damask  cheeks,  where  all  sweet  beauties  blow ! 
O  thou  from  head  to  foot  divinely  fair  ! 
Cupid's  most  cunning  net  's  made  of  that  hair. 
And  as  he  weaves  himself  for  curious  eyes, 
"O  me,  O  me  !    I  'm  caught  myself!"  he  cries: 
Sweet  rest  about  thee,  sweet  and  golden  sleep, 
Soft  peaceful  thoughts  your  hourly  watches  keep, 
Whilst  I  in  wonder  sing  this  sacrifice 
To  beauty  sacred,  and  those  angel  eyes. 


90 


>    »     >  ;  ,> 


^k»L,-^ 


3^o|^n  fkttf^tt. 


SERENADE. 

FROM    "THE   SPANISH    CURATE." 

■pv  BAREST,  do  not  you  delay  me, 

Since  thou  know'st  I  must  be  gone ; 

Wind  and  tide  't  is  thought  doth  stay  me, 
But  't  is  wind  that  must  be  blown 

From  that  breath  whose  native  smell 

Indian  odours  doth  excel. 

Oh  then  speak,  thou  fairest  fair, 

Kill  not  him  that  vows  to  serve  thee  1 

But  perfume  this  neighbouring  air. 

Else  dull  silence  sure  will  sterve  me; 

'T  is  a  word  that  's  quickly  spoken. 

Which  being  restrained,  a  heart  is  broken. 


91 


€Ii5a6etI|an  ^ms$. 


TO  ANGELINA, 

FROM    "THE    ELDER    BROTHER," 

OEAUTY  clear  and  fair 
Where  the  air 

Rather  like  a  perfume  dwells, 

Where  the  violet  and  the  rose 
Their  blue  veins  and  blush  disclose, 

And  come  to  honour  nothing  else. 

Where  to  live  near, 
And  planted  there, 

Is  to  live,  and  still  live  new; 
Where  to  gain  a  favour  is 
More  than  light,  perpetual  bliss: 

Make  me  live  by  serving  you  1 

Dear,  again  back  recall 
To  this  hght 

A  stranger  to  himself  and  all ; 

Both  the  wonder  and  the  story 
Shall  be  yours,  and  eke  the  glory; 

I  am  your  servant  and  your  thrall. 


92 


3^01)11  flttt^tt. 


TO    THE  BLEST  El^y4NTHE. 

FROM    "A    WIFE   FOR    A    MONTH." 

T    ET  those  complain  that  feel  Love's  cruelty, 
And  in  sad  legends  write  their  woes ; 
With  roses  gently  '  has  corrected  me, 
My  war  is  without  rage  or  blows : 
My  mistress's  eyes  shine  fair  on  my  desires, 
And  hope  springs  up  inflamed  with  her  new  fires. 

No  more  an  exile  will  I  dwell, 

With  folded  arms  and  sighs  all  day, 
Reckoning  the  torments  of  my  hell. 
And  flinging  my  sweet  joys  away : 
I  am  called  home  again  to  quiet  peace; 
My  mistress  smiles,  and  all  my  sorrows  cease. 

Yet  what  is  living  in  her  eye, 

Or  being  blessed  with  her  sweet  tongue. 
If  these  no  other  joys  imply? 

A  golden  gyve,  a  pleasing  wrong ! 
To  be  your  own  but  one  poor  month,  I  'd  give 
My  youth,  my  fortune,  and  then  leave  to  live. 


93 


THOMAS   DEKKER. 

1570  ?-i64X  ? 

BEAUTY,    ARISE! 

FROM   '♦THE   PLEASANT   COMEDY   OF   PATIENT   GRISSELL." 

OEAUTY,  arise,  show  forth  thy  glorious  shining ! 
Thine  eyes  feed  love,  for   them   he   standeth 
pining ; 
Honour  and  youth  attend  to  do  their  duty 
To  thee,  their  only  sovereign  beauty. 
Beauty,  arise,  whilst  we,  thy  servants,  sing 
lo  to  Hymen,  wedlock's  jocund  king ! 
lo  to  Hymen,  lo,  lo,  sing ! 
Of  wedlock,  love,  and  youth  is  Hymen  king. 

Beauty,  arise,  thy  glorious  lights  display  I 
Whilst  we  sing  lo,  glad  to  see  this  day. 

lo,  lo,  to  Hymen,  lo,  lo,  sing ! 

Of  wedlock,  love,  and  youth  is  Hymen  king. 


94 


€I)oma^  2Defeftm 


THE   INVITATION. 

FROM    "THE    SUNS    DARLING." 

T    IVE  with  me  still,  and  all  the  measures 

Played  to  by  the  spheres  I  '11  teach  thee ; 
Let  's  but  thus  dally,  all  the  pleasures 

The  moon  beholds  her  man  shall  reach  thee. 

Dwell  in  mine  arms,  aloft  we'll  hover, 
And  see  fields  of  armies  fighting : 

Oh,  part  not  from  me  !      I  '11  discover 

There  all  but  [?]  books  of  fancy's  writing. 

Be  but  my  darling,  Age  to  free  thee 
From  her  curse  shall  fall  a-dying; 

Call  me  thy  empress,  Time  to  see  thee 
Shall  forget  his  art  of  flying. 


95 


THOMAS   CAMPION. 


LOyE'S   REQUEST. 


X540?-i623? 


QHALL  I  come,  sweet  Love,  to  thee 
When  the  evening  beams  are  set? 
Shall  I  not  excluded  be. 

Will  you  find  no  feigned  let? 
Let  me  not,  for  pity,  more 
Tell  the  long  hours  at  your  door ! 


Who  can  tell  what  thief  or  foe, 
In  the  covert  of  the  night, 

For  his  prey  will  work  my  woe. 
Or  through  wicked  foul  despite? 

So  may  I  die  unredrest 

Ere  my  long  love  be  possest. 


€&oma^  Campion. 


But  to  let  such  dangers  pass, 

Which  a  lover's  thoughts  disdain, 

'T  is  enough  in  such  a  place 
To  attend  love's  joys  in  vain : 

Do  not  mock  me  in  thy  bed, 

While  these  cold  nights  freeze  me  dead. 


97 


^lijaBet^an  ^ong^. 


TO   LESBIA. 

j\/lY  sweetest  Lesbia,  let  us  live  and  love; 

And  though  the  sager  sort  our  deeds  reprove, 
Let  us  not  weigh  them.    Heaven's  great  lamps  do  dive 
Into  their  west,  and  straight  again  revive; 
But  soon  as  once  set  is  our  little  light, 
Then  must  we  sleep  one  ever-during  night. 

If  all  would  lead  their  lives  in  love  like  me, 
Then  bloody  swords  and  armour  should  not  be ; 
No  drum  nor  trumpet  peaceful  sleeps  should  move, 
Unless  alarm  came  from  the  Camp  of  Love  : 
But  fools  do  live  and  waste  their  little  light, 
And  seek  with  pain  their  ever-during  night. 

When  timely  death  my  life  and  fortunes  ends, 

Let  not  my  hearse  be  vext  with  mourning  friends; 

But  let  all  lovers  rich  in  triumph  come, 

And  with  sweet  pastimes  grace  my  happy  tomb : 

And,  Lesbia,  close  up  thou  my  little  light, 

And  crown  with  love  my  ever-during  night. 

9S 


'  '. :  >  >'  ; 


€{)Dmaiar  Campion* 


CHERRY    RIPE. 

T^HERE  is  a  garden  in  her  face 

Where  roses  and  white  lilies  grow; 
A  heavenly  paradise  is  that  place 
Wherein  all  pleasant  fruits  do  flow: 

There  cherries  grow  which  none  may  buy, 
Till  "  Cherry  ripe  "  themselves  do  cry. 

Those  cherries  fairly  do  enclose 

Of  orient  pearl  a  double  row, 

Which  when  her  lovely  laughter  shows, 

They  look  Uke  rose-buds  filled  with  snow; 

Yet  them  nor  peer  nor  prince  can  buy, 
Till  "  Cherry  ripe  "  themselves  do  cry. 

Her  eyes  like  angels  watch  them  still, 
Her  brows  like  bended  bows  do  stand. 
Threatening  with  piercing  frowns  to  kill 
All  that  attempt  with  eye  or  hand 

Those  sacred  cherries  to  come  nigh, 
Till  "Cherry  ripe"  themselves  do  cry. 


99 


BEN    JONSON. 


SONG. 


1574-1637. 


/^H,  do  not  wanton  with  those  eyes, 
Lest  I  be  sick  with  seeing; 
Nor  cast  them  down,  but  let  them  rise, 
Lest  shame  destroy  their  being. 

Oh,  be  not  angry  with  those  fires, 
For  then  their  threats  will  kill  me; 

Nor  look  too  kind  on  my  desires. 
For  then  my  hopes  will  spill  me. 

Oh,  do  not  steep  them  in  thy  tears, 
For  so  will  sorrow  slay  me; 

Nor  spread  them  as  distract  with  fears, 
Mine  own  enough  betray  me. 


100 


95en  3^ottiB?ott* 


PERFECT   BEAUTY. 

FROM    "THE   NEW   INN." 

TT  was  a  beauty  that  I  saw, 

So  pure,  so  perfect,  as  the  frame 
Of  all  the  universe  was  lame 
To  that  one  figure  could  I  draw. 
Or  give  least  line  of  it  a  law ! 

A  skein  of  silk  without  a  knot, 
A  fair  march  made  without  a  halt, 
A  curious  form  without  a  fault, 

A  printed  book  without  a  blot. 
All  beauty,  and  without  a  spot ! 


lOI 


€lii0ibttl^m  M^ons^. 


THE   TRIUMPH  OF  CHARIS. 

FROM    "THE    DEVIL   IS   AN    ASS." 

OEE  the  chariot  at  hand  here  of  Love, 
Wherein  my  lady  rideth  ! 
Each  that  draws  is  a  swan  or  a  dove, 

And  well  the  car  Love  guideth. 
As  she  goes,  all  hearts  do  duty 

Unto  her  beauty. 
And  enamoured  do  wish,  so  they  might 

But  enjoy  such  a  sight. 
That  they  still  were  to  run  by  her  side 
Through  swords,  through  seas,  whither  she  would 
ride. 

Do  but  look  on  her  eyes;    they  do  light 
All  that  Love's  world  compriseth  ! 

Do  but  look  on  her  hair;    it  is  bright 
As  Love's  star,  when  it  riseth  ! 

Do  but  mark  her  forehead,  smoother 
#Than  words  that  soothe  her ! 


102 


25en  'fjcn^nn. 


And  from  her  arched  brows  such  a  grace 

Sheds  itself  through  the  face 
As  alone  there  triumphs  to  the  life, 
All  the  gain,  all  the  good,  of  the  elements*  strife  ! 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow. 
Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it? 

Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  of  the  snow. 
Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it? 

Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  beaver. 
Or  swan's  down,  ever? 

Or  have  smelt  o'  the  bud  of  the  brier, 
Or  the  nard  in  the  fire? 

Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee? 

Oh  so  white,  oh  so  soft,  oh  so  sweet  is  she ! 


^03 


(ett;atieti)an  J^ong^. 


TO    CELIA. 

r^RINK  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 
And  I  '11  not  look  for  wine  ! 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine, 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 
I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath. 

Not  so  much  honoring  thee 
As  giving  it  a  hope  that  there 

It  could  not  withered  be; 
But  thou  thereon  did'st  only  breathe. 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me ; 
Since  when  it  grows  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself,  but  thee. 


104 


25en  2foii^on» 


THE   S^VEET   NEGLECT, 

FROM    "THE   SILENT    WOMAN." 

OTILL  to  be  neat,  still  to  be  drest 
As  you  were  going  to  a  feast; 
Still  to  be  powdered,  still  perfumed, 
Lady,  it  is  to  be  presumed. 
Though  art's  hid  causes  are  not  found, 
All  is  not  sweet,  all  is  not  sound. 

Give  me  a  look,  give  me  a  face. 

That  makes  simplicity  a  grace; 

Robes  loosely  flowing,  hair  as  free : 

Such  sweet  neglect  more  taketh  me 

Than  all  the  adulteries  of  art; 

They  strike  mine  eyes,  but  not  my  heart. 


los 


€li5aBetljatt  ^ong#» 


o 


THE   KISS. 

FROM    "CYNTHIA'S    REVELS." 

H  that  joy  so  soon  should  waste  ! 

Or  so  sweet  a  bUss 

As  a  kiss 
Might  not  forever  last ! 
So  sugared,  so  melting,  so  soft,  so  delicious ! 

The  dew  that  lies  on  roses 

When  the  morn  herself  discloses 
Is  not  so  precious. 
Oh  rather  than  I  would  it  smother, 
Were  I  to  taste  such  another, 

It  should  be  my  wishing 

That  I  might  die  kissing  ! 


io6 


25ett  S^on^on* 


THE  BANQUET  OF  SENSE. 

FROM    "THE   POETASTER.- 

1.  'X'HEN  in  a  free  and  lofty  strain 

Our  broken  tunes  we  thus  repair; 

2.  And  we  answer  them  again, 

Running  division  on  the  panting  air 
Ambo.        To  celebrate  this  feast  of  sense, 
As  free  from  scandal  as  offence. 

1.  Here  is  beauty  for  the  eye; 

2.  For  the  ear  sweet  melody; 

1.  Ambrosiac  odours  for  the  smell; 

2.  Delicious  nectar  for  the  taste; 
Ambo,         For  the  touch  a  lady's  waist. 

Which  doth  all  the  rest  excel. 


107 


€H;aBetftatt  S>ms$. 


T 


TO   A    GLOVE. 

FROM    "CYNTHIA'S    REVELS." 

HOU  more  than  most  sweet  glove 

Unto  my  more  sweet  love : 
Suffer  me  to  store  with  kisses 
This  empty  lodging,  that  now  misses 
The  pure  rosy  hand  that  wear  thee, 
Whiter  than  the  kid  that  bear  thee. 
Thou  art  soft,  but  that  was  softer; 
Cupid's  self  has  kissed  it  ofter 
Than  e'er  he  did  his  mother's  doves, 
Supposing  her  the  queen  of  loves 
That  was  thy  mistress,  best  of  gloves. 


io8 


25en  ^fan^on* 


yENETUN   SONG. 

FROM    "VOLPONE,    OR   THE   FOX." 

/^OME,  my  Celia,  let  us  prove, 

While  we  can,  the  sports  of  love; 
Time  will  not  be  ours  forever, 
He  at  length  our  good  will  sever. 
Spend  not  then  his  gifts  in  vain : 
Suns  that  set  may  rise  again; 
But  if  once  we  lose  this  light, 
'T  is  with  us  perpetual  night. 
Why  should  we  defer  our  joys? 
Fame  and  rumour  are  but  toys. 
Cannot  we  delude  the  eyes 
Of  a  few  poor  household  spies? 
Or  his  easier  ears  beguile. 
Thus  removed  by  our  wile? 
'T  is  no  sin  love's  fruits  to  steal ; 
But  the  sweet  thefts  to  reveal. 
To  be  taken,  to  be  seen,  — 
These  have  crimes  accounted  been. 


109 


WILLIAM   DRUMMOND. 

1585-1649. 

TO    CHLORIS. 

QEE,  Chloris,  how  the  clouds 
Tilt  in  the  azure  lists, 
And  how  with  Stygian  mists 
Each  horned  hill  his  giant  forehead  shrouds ; 
Jove  thund'reth  in  the  air; 
The  air,  grown  great  with  rain, 
Now  seems  to  bring  Deucalion's  days  again. 
I  see  thee  quake;    come,  let  us  home  repair; 
Come,  hide  thee  in  mine  arms, 
If  not  for  love,  yet  to  shun  greater  harms. 


no 


H^illtam  SDmmmonti. 


MADRIGAL 


QWEET  rose !   whence  is  this  hue 
Which  doth  all  hues  excel? 


Whence  this  most  fragrant  smell? 

And  whence  this  form  and  gracing  grace  in  you? 

In  flowery  Poestum's  field  perhaps  ye  grew, 
Or  Hybla's  hills  you  bred, 
Or  odoriferous  Enna's  plains  you  fed. 

Or  Tmolus,  or  where  boar  young  Adon  slew. 

Or  hath  the  Queen  of  Love  you  dyed  of  new 

In  that  dear  blood,  which  makes  you  look  so  red? 

No  !  none  of  these,  but  cause  more  high  you  blissed  : 

My  Lady's  breast  you  bare,  and  lips  you  kissed. 


Ill 


<eii3aBetl)an  Songi^. 


SONG. 

pHGEBUS,  arise, 

And  paint  the  sable  skies 
With  azure,  white,  and  red ! 
Rouse  Memnon's  mother  from  her  Tithon's  bed. 
That  she  thy  career  may  with  roses  spread  ! 
The  nightingales  thy  coming  each  where  sing 
Make  an  eternal  Spring, 

Give  life  to  this  dark  world  which  lieth  dead. 
Spread  forth  thy  golden  hair 
In  larger  locks  than  thou  wast  wont  before. 
And,  emperor  like,  decore 
With  diadem  of  pearls  thy  temples  fair; 
Chase  hence  the  ugly  night, 
Which  serves  but  to  make  dear  thy  glorious  light ! 
This  is  that  happy  morn. 
That  day,  long-wished  day. 
Of  all  my  life  so  dark 
(If  cruel  stars  have  not  my  ruin  sworn. 
And  fates  not  hope  betray), 


It^tUiam  SDrummonb. 


Which,  only  white,  deserves 

A  diamond  forever  should  it  mark : 

This  is  the  morn  should  bring  unto  this  grove 

My  love,  to  hear  and  recompense  my  love. 

Fair  King,  who  all  preserves, 

But  show  thy  blushing  beams. 

And  thou  two  sweeter  eyes 

Shalt  see  than  those  which  by  Peneus'  streams 

Did  once  thy  heart  surprise  ; 

Nay,  suns,  which  shine  as  clear 

As  thou  when  two  thou  did  to  Rome  appear. 

Now,  Flora,  deck  thyself  in  fairest  guise  1 

If  that  ye.  Winds,  would  hear 

A  voice  surpassing  far  Amphion's  lyre, 

Your  stormy  chiding  stay ; 

Let  zephyr  only  breathe. 

And  with  her  tresses  play, 

Kissing  sometimes  these  purple  ports  of  death. 

The  winds  all  silent  are. 

And  Phoebus  in  his  chair, 

Ensaffroning  sea  and  air. 

Makes  vanish  every  star; 


"3 


<6tt;aliett)an  <^on0^. 


Night  like  a  drunkard  reels 

Beyond  the  hills  to  shun  his  flaming  wheels  ! 

The  fields  with  flowers  are  decked  in  every  hue, 

The  clouds  bespangle  with  bright  gold  their  blue ; 

Here  is  the  pleasant  place, 

And  everything,  save  her,  who  all  should  grace. 


114 


GEORGE   WITHER. 


1588-X667. 


SHy4LL   /,    IV/ISTING  IN  DESPAIRED 

OHALL  I,  wasting  in  despaire, 
Dye  because  a  woman  's  fair ! 
Or  make  pale  my  cheeks  with  care 
'Cause  another's  rosie  are? 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  day 
Or  the  flowry  meads  in  May, 
If  she  thinke  not  well  of  me, 
What  care  I  how  faire  she  be? 

Shall  my  seely  heart  be  pined 
'Cause  I  see  a  woman  kind? 


ii5 


<eix^abtt^m  <§>nns^. 


Or  a  well  disposed  nature 

Joyned  with  a  lovely  feature? 

Be  she  meeker,  kinder  than 
Turtle-dove  or  Pelican, — 
If  she  be  not  so  to  me. 
What  care  I  how  kind  she  be? 

Shall  a  woman's  vertues  move 

Me  to  perish  for  her  love? 

Or  her  wel  deservings  knowne 

Make  me  quite  forget  mine  own? 

Be  she  with  that  goodness  blest 
Which  may  merit  name  of  best, — 
If  she  be  not  such  to  me. 
What  care  I  how  good  she  be? 

'Cause  her  fortune  seems  too  high 

Shall  I  play  the  fool  and  die? 

She  that  beares  a  noble  mind, 

If  not  outward  helpes  she  find. 

Thinks  what  with  them  he  wold  do, 
That  without  them  dares  her  woe: 


i6 


(©eorge  Witf^tt. 


And  unlesse  that  minde  I  see, 
What  care  I  how  great  she  be? 

Great,  or  good,  or  kind,  or  faire, 
I  will  ne'er  the  more  despaire : 
If  she  love  me  (this  beleeve), 
I  will  die  ere  she  shall  grieve. 

If  she  slight  me  when  I  woe, 
I  can  scome  and  let  her  goe ; 
For  if  she  be  not  for  me. 
What  care  I  for  whom  she  be? 


117 


dtli^httt^an  ^ongief. 


yi  SONG    TO  HER  BEAUTY. 

FROM   "THE   MISTRESS   OF   PHILARETE." 

A  ND  her  lips  (that  show  no  dulness) 
Full  are,  in  the  meanest  fulness : 
Those  the  leaves  be  whose  unfolding 
Brings  sweet  pleasures  to  beholding; 
For  such  pearls  they  do  disclose 
Both  the  Indies  match  not  those, 
Yet  are  so  in  order  placed 
As  their  whiteness  is  more  graced. 
Each  part  is  so  well  disposed, 
And  her  dainty  mouth  composed, 
So  as  there  is  no  distortion 
Misbeseems  that  sweet  proportion. 

When  her  ivory  teeth  she  buries 
Twixt  her  two  enticing  cherries, 
There  appear  such  pleasures  hidden 
As  might  tempt  what  were  forbidden. 

ii8 


<&totiit  Wit^tx. 


If  you  look  again  the  whiles 

She  doth  part  those  lips  in  smiles, 

'T  is  as  when  a  flash  of  light 

Breaks  from  heaven  to  glad  the  night. 


119 


THOMAS   CAREW. 


SONG. 


1589-1639. 


W 


OULD  you  know  what  's  soft?     I  dare 
Not  bring  you  to  the  down  or  air, 
Nor  to  stars  to  show  what  *s  bright, 
Nor  to  snow  to  teach  you  white; 


Nor,  if  you  would  music  hear, 
Call  the  orbs  to  take  your  ear; 
Nor,  to  please  your  sense,  bring  forth 
Bruised  nard,  or  what  's  more  worth ; 

Or  on  food  were  your  thoughts  placed. 
Bring  you  nectar  for  a  taste. 
Would  you  have  all  these  in  one, — 
Name  my  mistress,  and  't  is  done  ! 


120 


€||oma^  Careto. 


A  PRAYER    TO    THE   mND. 

r^  O,  thou  gentle  whispering  wind, 

Bear  this  sigh ;    and  if  thou  find 
Where  my  cruel  fair  doth  rest. 
Cast  it  in  her  snowy  breast : 
So  enflamed  by  my  desire, 
It  may  set  her  heart  afire ; 
Those  sweet  kisses  thou  shalt  gain 
Will  reward  thee  for  thy  pain. 
Boldly  light  upon  her  lip. 
There  suck  odours,  and  thence  skip 
To  her  bosom.      Lastly,  fall 
Down,  and  wander  over  all; 
Range  about  those  ivory  hills 
From  whose  every  part  distils 
Amber  dew;    there  spices  grow, 
There  pure  streams  of  nectar  flow. 
There  perfume  thyself,  and  bring 
All  those  sweets  upon  thy  wing. 


121 


(tElij^^^fi^^  ^on0^. 


As  thou  retum'st,  change  by  thy  power 

Every  weed  into  a  flower; 

Turn  each  thistle  to  a  vine, 

Make  the  bramble  eglantine. 

For  so  rich  a  booty  made, 

Do  but  this,  and  I  am  paid. 

Thou  canst  with  thy  powerful  blast 

Heat  apace  and  cool  as  fast; 

Thou  canst  kindle  hidden  flame, 

And  again  destroy  the  same : 

Then,  for  pity,  either  stir 

Up  the  fire  of  love  in  her. 

That  alike  both  flames  may  shine. 

Or  else  quite  extinguish  mine. 


132 


€l^omai0f  Cateto^ 


DISDAIN  RETURNED. 

T  TE  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek, 

Or  a  coral  lip  admires, 
Or  from  star-like  eyes  doth  seek 

Fuel  to  maintain  his  fires, — 
As  Old  Time  makes  these  decay, 
So  his  flames  must  waste  away. 

But  a  smooth  and  steadfast  mind, 
Gentle  thoughts  and  calm  desires. 

Hearts  with  equal  love  combined. 
Kindle  never-dying  fires: 

Where  these  are  not,  I  despise 

Lovely  cheeks  or  lips  or  eyes. 

No  tears,  Celia,  now  shall  win 
My  resolved  heart  to  return; 

I  have  searched  thy  soul  within, 

And  find  nought  but  pride  and  scorn 

I  have  learned  thy  arts,  and  now 

Can  disdain  as  much  as  thou ! 


123 


<6Ii;d&et{^an  ^on^^. 


THE   PRIMROSE, 

A  SK  me  why  I  send  you  here 

This  firstUng  of  the  infant  year; 
Ask  me  why  I  send  to  you 
This  primrose  all  bepearled  with  dew, — 
I  straight  will  whisper  in  your  ears, 
The  sweets  of  love  are  washed  with  tears. 

Ask  me  why  this  flower  doth  show 

So  yellow,  green,  and  sickly  too; 

Ask  me  why  the  stalk  is  weak. 

And  bending,  yet  it  doth  not  break, — 

I  must  tell  you,  these  discover 

What  doubts  and  fears  are  in  a  lover. 


124 


€{)oma^  Careto. 


UNGRATEFUL   BEAUTY. 

ly'NOW,  Celia,  since  thou  art  so  proud, 
'T  was  I  that  gave  thee  thy  renown. 
Thou  hadst  in  the  forgotten  crowd 

Of  common  beauties  Hved  unknown, 
Had  not  my  verse  exhaled  thy  name, 
And  with  it  impt  the  wings  of  Fame. 

That  kilHng  power  is  none  of  thine, — 
I  gave  it  to  thy  voice  and  eyes : 

Thy  sweets,  thy  graces,  all  are  mine; 
Thou  art  my  star,  shin'st  in  my  skies. 

Then  dart  not  from  thy  borrowed  sphere 

Lightning  on  him  that  fixed  thee  there. 

Tempt  me  with  such  affrights  no  more, 
Lest  what  I  made  I  uncreate; 

Let  fools  thy  mystic  forms  adore, 

I  '11  know  thee  in  thy  mortal  state. 

Wise  poets,  that  wrapt  truth  in  tales, 

Knew  her  themselves  through  all  her  veils. 


125 


€lt$eihet^n  M>ms$. 


Y 


CELIA  SINGING. 

OU  that  think  love  can  convey- 
No  other  way 

But  through  the  eyes  into  the  heart 
His  fatal  dart, — 

Close  up  those  casements,  and  but  hear 
This  siren  sing; 
And  on  the  wing 

Of  her  sweet  voice  it  shall  appear 

That  love  can  enter  at  the  ear. 

Then  unveil  your  eyes;   behold 

The  curious  mould 
Where  that  voice  dwells :    and  as  we  know 

When  the  cocks  crow 

We  freely  may 

Gaze  on  the  day, 
So  may  you,  when  the  music  's  done, 
Awake  and  see  the  rising  sun. 


126 


^    ,   '     J     -     >     D    J    J 


»  J      >    5 


€f^oma^  Cateto* 


SONG. 

A  SK  me  no  more  where  Jove  bestows, 
When  June  is  past,  the  fading  rose; 
For  in  your  beauty's  orient  deep 
These  flowers,  as  in  their  causes,  sleep. 

Ask  me  no  more  whither  do  stray 
The  golden  atoms  of  the  day ; 
For,  in  pure  love.  Heaven  did  prepare 
Those  powders  to  enrich  your  hair. 

Ask  me  no  more  whither  doth  haste 
The  nightingale,  when  May  is  past; 
For  in  your  sweet  dividing  throat 
She  winters,  and  keeps  warm  her  note. 

Ask  me  no  more  where  those  stars  hght 
That  downwards  fall  in  dead  of  night ; 
For  in  your  eyes  they  sit,  and  there 
Fix^d  become,  as  in  their  sphere. 

127 


€lt5aBetliatt  ^ong^. 


Ask  me  no  more  if  east  or  west 
The  phoenix  builds  her  spicy  nest; 
For  unto  you  at  last  she  flies, 
And  in  your  fragrant  bosom  dies. 


128 


€f>omai0?  CareiD* 


IN  PRAISE   OF  HIS  MISTRESS. 

WOU  that  will  a  wonder  know, 
Go  with  me  : 
Two  suns  in  a  heaven  of  snow 

Both  burning  be. 
All  they  fire  that  do  but  eye  them, 
Yet  the  snow  's  unmelted  by  them. 

Leaves  of  crimson  tulips  met 

Guide  the  way 
Where  two  pearly  rows  be  set. 

As  white  as  day; 
When  they  part  themselves  asunder, 
She  breathes  oracles  of  wonder. 

All  this  but  the  casket  is 

Which  contains 
Such  a  jewel,  as  to  miss 

Breeds  endless  pains : 
That  's  her  mind,  and  they  that  know  it 
May  admire,  but  cannot  show  it. 


129 


^JijaBetftan  S>ms^. 


RED  AND   IVHITE  ROSES. 

OEAD  in  these  roses  the  sad  story 

Of  my  hard  fate  and  your  own  glory : 
In  the  white  you  may  discover 
The  paleness  of  a  fainting  lover; 
In  the  red  the  flames  still  feeding 
On  my  heart  with  fresh  wounds  bleeding. 
The  white  will  tell  you  how  I  languish, 
And  the  red  express  my  anguish; 
The  white  my  innocence  displaying, 
The  red  my  martyrdom  betraying. 
The  frowns  that  on  your  brow  resided 
Have  those  roses  thus  divided. 
Oh,  let  your  smiles  but  clear  the  weather, 
And  then  they  both  shall  grow  together ! 


130 


€|)omai8?  CarettJ. 


THE   PROTESTATION. 

IV TO  more  shall  meads  be  decked  with  flowers, 
Nor  sweetness  dwell  in  rosy  bowers, 
Nor  greenest  buds  on  branches  spring. 
Nor  warbling  birds  delight  to  sing, 
Nor  April  violets  paint  the  grove, 
If  I  forsake  my  Celia's  love. 

The  fish  shall  in  the  ocean  bum, 
And  fountains  sweet  shall  bitter  turn ; 
The  humble  oak  no  flood  shall  know 
When  floods  shall  highest  hills  o'erflow; 
Black  Lethe  shall  oblivion  leave, — 
If  e'er  my  Celia  I  deceive. 

Love  shall  his  bow  and  shaft  lay  by, 
And  Venus'  doves  want  wings  to  fly; 
The  Sun  refuse  to  show  his  light, 
And  day  shall  then  be  turned  to  night; 
And  in  that  night  no  star  appear,  — 
If  once  I  leave  my  Celia  dear. 


131 


^lijalietlian  ^ong^* 


Love  shall  no  more  inhabit  earth, 
Nor  lovers  more  shall  love  for  worth, 
Nor  joy  above  in  heaven  dwell, 
Nor  pain  torment  poor  souls  in  hell; 
Grim  death  no  more  shall  horrid  prove. 
If  e'er  I  leave  bright  Celia's  love. 


[32 


WILLIAM   BROWNE. 

1590-1645. 

THE  SIREN'S  SONG. 

FROM    "A   MASQUE  OF  THE   INNER  TEMPLE." 

QTEER,  hither  steer  your  winged  pines, 

All  beaten  mariners ! 
Here  lie  Love's  undiscovered  mines, 

A  prey  to  passengers; 
Perfumes  far  sweeter  than  the  best, 
Which  make  the  Phoenix's  urn  and  nest. 

Fear  not  your  ships, 

Nor  any  to  oppose  you  save  our  lips; 
But  come  on  shore. 
Where  no  joy  dies  till  Love  hath  gotten  more; 


133 


^lijaljetlian  J^ongia?. 


For  swelling  waves  our  panting  breasts, 

Where  never  storms  arise, 
Exchange,  and  be  awhile  our  guests; 

For  stars,  gaze  on  our  eyes ! 
The  compass  Love  shall  hourly  sing, 
And  as  he  goes  about  the  ring. 

We  will  not  miss 

To  tell  each  point  he  nameth  with  a  kiss. 
Then  come  on  shore, 
Where  no  joy  dies  till  Love  has  gotten  more. 


134 


i©illiam  25rototte. 


SONG, 

Al/ELCOME,  welcome  do  I  sing, 

Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ! 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  forever. 

Love  that  to  the  voice  is  near, 

Breaking  from  your  ivory  pale, 
Need  not  walk  abroad  to  hear 
The  delightful  nightingale. 

Welcome,  welcome  then  I  sing. 

Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ! 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  forever. 

Love,  that  looks  still  on  your  eyes 

Though  the  winter  have  begun 
To  benumb  our  arteries. 

Shall  not  want  the  summer's  sun. 
Welcome,  welcome,  etc. 


135 


^lijafietliatt  ^ong^. 


Love  that  still  may  see  your  cheeks, 
Where  all  rareness  still  reposes, 

Is  a  fool  if  e'er  he  seeks 
Other  Hlies,  other  roses. 
Welcome,  welcome,  etc. 

Love  to  whom  your  soft  lip  yields, 

And  perceives  your  breath  in  kissing, 

All  the  odours  of  the  fields 

Never,  never  shall  be  missing. 
Welcome,  welcome,  etc. 

Love  that  question  would  anew 
What  fair  Eden  was  of  old, 

Let  him  rightly  study  you. 
And  a  brief  of  that  behold. 
Welcome,  welcome,  etc. 


136 


-.TTT^glL 


ROBERT   HERRICK. 

159X-X674 

THE  ROCK  OF  RUBIES. 

QOME  asked  me  where  the  rubies  grew; 

And  nothing  I  did  say, 
But  with  my  finger  pointed  to 

The  Hps  of  Julia. 
Some  asked  how  pearls  did  grow,  and  where ; 

Then  spoke  I  to  my  girl 
To  part  her  lips,  and  show  me  there 

The  quarrelets  of  pearl. 


137 


€U}aBetf)an  M>ms$. 


UPON  SAPPHO  SIVEETLY  PLAYING  AND 
SIVEETLY  SINGING. 

"11  7  HEN  thou  dost  play  and  sweetly  sing, 
Whether  it  be  the  voice  or  string, 
Or  both  of  them,  that  do  agree 
Thus  to  entrance  and  ravish  me, — 
This,  this  I  know,  I  'm  oft  struck  mute; 
And  die  away  upon  thy  lute. 


138 


Mcbttt  i^emcfe> 


TO    MEADOWS. 

/E  have  been  fresh  and  green, 

Ye  have  been  filled  with  flowers; 

And  ye  the  walks  have  been 

Where  maids  have  spent  their  hours. 

You  have  beheld  how  they 
With  wicker  arks  did  come. 

To  kiss  and  bear  away 

The  richer  cowslips  home. 

You  've  heard  them  sweetly  sing, 
And  seen  them  in  a  round, — 

Each  virgin,  like  a  spring. 
With  honeysuckles  crowned. 

But  now  we  see  none  here 

Whose  silvery  feet  did  tread. 

And  with  dishevelled  hair 

Adorned  this  smoother  mead. 


139 


^eiijaBetljan  ^ons^* 


Like  unthrifts,  having  spent 

Your  stock,  and  needy  grown, 

You  're  left  here  to  lament 
Your  poor  estates  alone. 


140 


iSofiert  f$tmth. 


DELIGHT  IN  DISORDER. 

A    SWEET  disorder  in  the  dress 

Kindles  in  clothes  a  wantonness: 
A  lawn  about  the  shoulders  thrown 
Into  a  fine  distraction; 
An  erring  lace,  which  here  and  there 
Enthrals  the  crimson  stomacher^ 
A  cuff  neglectful,  and  thereby 
Ribbons  to  flow  confusedly; 
A  winning  wave,  deserving  note, 
In  the  tempestuous  petticoat; 
A  careless  shoe-string,  in  whose  tie 
I  see  a  wild  civility, — 
Do  more  bewitch  me,  than  when  art 
Is  too  precise  in  every  part. 


14  i 


Clijafietljan  ^ong^* 


THE  NIGHT  PIECE. 

ITER  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee, 
The  shooting  stars  attend  thee; 
And  the  elves  also, 
Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 

No  Will-o'-th'-Wisp  mis-light  thee; 
Nor  snake  or  slow-worm  bite  thee ; 

But  on,  on  thy  way. 

Not  making  a  stay ! 
Since  ghost  there  's  none  to  affright  thee. 

Let  not  the  dark  thee  cumber; 

What  though  the  moon  does  slumber? 
The  stars  of  the  night 
Will  lend  thee  their  light, 

Like  tapers  clear,  without  number. 


142 


^tibttt  ^tttith. 


Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee 

Thus,  thus  to  come  unto  me; 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

Thy  silvery  feet, 

My  soul  I  '11  pour  into  thee. 


143 


€li$alieti)an  ^ong^. 


TO   THE  VIRGINS. 

i^^ATHER  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may, 
^^    Old  Time  is  still  a-flying; 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day 
To-morrow  will  be  dying. 

The  glorious  lamp  of  heaven,  the  Sun, 
The  higher  he  's  a-getting, 

The  sooner  will  his  race  be  run, 
And  nearer  he  's  to  setting. 

That  age  is  best  which  is  the  first. 
When  youth  and  blood  are  warmer; 

But  being  spent,  the  worse  and  worst 
Times  still  succeed  the  former. 

Then  be  not  coy,  but  use  your  time, 
And  while  ye  may,  go  marry; 

For  having  lost  but  once  your  prime, 
You  may  forever  tarry. 


144 


mo&ert  1$tmth. 


w 


^RT  ABOl^E  NATURE. 

HEN  I  behold  a  forest  spread 
With  silken  trees  upon  thy  head; 
And  when  I  see  that  other  dress 
Of  flowers  set  in  comeliness ; 
When  I  behold  another  grace 
In  the  ascent  of  curious  lace. 
Which  like  a  pinnacle  doth  show 
The  top,  and  the  top-gallant  too; 
Then  when  I  see  thy  tresses  bound 
Into  an  oval,  square  or  round. 
And  knit  in  knots  far  more  than  I 
Can  tell  by  tongue,  or  true-love  tie; 
Next,  when  those  lawny  films  I  see 
Play  with  a  wild  civility; 
And  all  those  airy  silks  to  flow. 
Alluring  me,  and  tempting  so, — 
I  must  confess,  mine  eye  and  heart 
Dote  less  on  nature  than  on  art. 


US 


dtlx^tt^n  ^ms0. 


CHERRY-RIPE. 

/^HERRY-RIPE,  ripe,  ripe!    I  cry, 

Full  and  fair  ones ;   come  and  buy ! 
If  so  be  you  ask  me  where 
They  do  grow?    I  answer,  there 
Where  my  Julia's  lips  do  smile, — 
There  's  the  land,  or  cherry-isle, 
Whose  plantations  fully  show 
All  the  year  where  cherries  grow. 


146 


moBert  J^erritfe. 


TO    THE    ROSE. 

f^Oy  happy  rose,  and  interwove 

With  other  flowers,  bind  my  love. 
Tell  her,  too,  she  must  not  be 
Longer  flowing,  longer  free, 
That  so  oft  has  fettered  me. 


Say,  if  she  's  fretful,  I  have  bands 
Of  pearl  and  gold  to  bind  her  hands ; 
Tell  her,  if  she  struggle  still, 
I  have  myrtle  rods  at  will 
For  to  tame,  though  not  to  kill. 

Take  thou  my  blessing  thus,  and  go 
And  tell  her  this  —     But  do  not  so  ! 
Lest  a  handsome  anger  fly 
Like  a  lightning  from  her  eye, 
And  bum  thee  up  as  well  as  I. 


147 


(6it;a&etl)an  ^ong^. 


ON   CHLORIS    IVALKING   IN   THE  SNOIV. 

T  SAW  faire  Chloris  walke  alone 

When  feathered  rain  came  softly  down; 
Then  Jove  descended  from  his  Tower, 
To  court  her  in  a  silver  shower. 
The  wanton  snow  flew  to  her  breast, 
Like  little  birds  into  their  nest; 
But  overcome  with  whiteness  there, 
For  griefe  it  thawed  into  a  teare, 
Then  falling  down  her  garment  hem 
To  deck  her,  froze  into  a  gem. 


148 


iSofiert  i^emtft. 


HOM^  ROSES   CAME  RED. 

OOSES  at  first  were  white, 
Till  they  co'd  not  agree 
Whether  my  Sappho's  breast 

Or  they  more  white  sho'd  be. 

But  being  vanquisht  quite, 

A  blush  their  cheeks  bespred; 

Since  which  (beleeve  the  rest) 
The  roses  first  came  red. 


149 


JAMES   SHIRLEY. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


Z594-1666. 


\  17" HEN  this  crystal  shall  present 
Your  beauty  to  your  eye, 
Think !   that  lovely  face  was  meant 

To  dress  another  by. 
For  not  to  make  them  proud 
These  glasses  are  allowed 
To  those  are  fair, 
But  to  compare 
The  inward  beauty  with  the  outward  grace, 
And  make  them  fair  in  soul  as  well  as  face. 


150 


•     «•'.»»> 


m- 


^--  .^^i 


r 


3Pame^  ^ftiriep^ 


A    LULLABY. 

FROM    "THE   TRIUMPH    OF   BEAUTY." 

A^EASE,  warring  thoughts,  and  let  his  brain 
No  more  discord  entertain, 
But  be  smooth  and  calm  again. 
Ye  crystal  rivers  that  are  nigh. 
As  your  streams  are  passing  by 
Teach  your  murmers  harmony. 
Ye  winds  that  wait  upon  the  Spring, 
And  perfumes  to  flowers  do  bring, 
Let  your  amorous  whispers  here 
Breathe  soft  music  to  his  ear. 
Ye  warbling  nightingales  repair 
From  every  wood  to  charm  this  air, 
And  with  the  wonders  of  your  breast 
Each  striving  to  excel  the  rest, — 
When  it  is  time  to  wake  him,  close  your  parts 
And  drop  down  from  the  tree  with  broken  hearts. 


151 


^lijafietl^an  ^ong^. 


TO   ONE  SAYING  SHE   IV AS   OLD. 

TTELL  me  not  Time  hath  played  the  thief 
Upon  her  beauty !      My  belief 
Might  have  been  mocked,  and  I  had  been 
An  heretic,  if  I  had  not  seen 
My  mistress  is  still  fair  to  me. 
And  now  I  all  those  graces  see 
That  did  adorn  her  virgin  brow: 
Her  eye  hath  the  same  flame  in  't  now 
To  kill  or  save;    the  chemist's  fire 
Equally  burns,  —  so  my  desire; 
Not  any  rose-bud  less  within 
Her  cheek;    the  same  snow  on  her  chin; 
Her  voice  that  heavenly  music  bears 
First  charmed  my  soul,  and  in  my  ears 
Did  leave  it  trembling;   her  lips  are 
The  self-same  lovely  twins  they  were : 
After  so  many  years  I  miss 
No  flower  in  all  my  paradise. 
Time,  I  despise  thy  rage  and  thee  ! 
Thieves  do  not  always  thrive,  I  see. 


152 


3Fame^  ^lliriep* 


ON  HER  DANCING, 

T  STOOD  and  saw  my  mistress  dance, 
Silent,  and  with  so  fixed  an  eye 

Some  might  suppose  me  in  a  trance. 
But  being  asked  why, 

By  one  that  knew  I  was  in  love, 
I  could  not  but  impart 

My  wonder  to  behold  her  move 

So  nimbly  with  a  marble  heart. 


^S3 


EDMUND   WALLER. 

1603-1686. 

ON   A    GIRDLE. 

PHAT  which  her  slender  waist  confined 

Shall  now  my  joyful  temples  bind; 
No  monarch  but  would  give  his  crown 
His  arms  might  do  what  this  has  done  ! 

It  was  my  heaven's  extremest  sphere, 
The  pale  which  held  that  lovely  deer ! 
My  joy,  my  grief,  my  hope,  my  love, 
Did  all  within  this  circle  move  ! 

A  narrow  compass,  and  yet  there 
Dwelt  all  that  's  good  and  all  that  's  fair ! 
Give  me  but  what  this  ribband  bound, 
Take  all  the  rest  the  sun  goes  round ! 

154 


<jBtimutt&  J©aller. 


TO    CHLORIS. 

\1[7HILST  I  listen  to  thy  voice, 

Chloris,  I  feel  my  heart  decay; 
That  powerful  voice 

Calls  my  fleeting  soul  away ! 
Oh,  suppress  that  magic  sound 
Which  destroys  without  a  wound  ! 

Peace,  Chloris,  peace  !   or  singing  die, 
That  together  you  and  I 

To  heaven  may  go : 

For  all  we  know 
Of  what  the  blessed  do  above 
Is  that  they  sing,  and  that  they  love. 


155 


(Sii^tti^m  M>ons$. 


TO    FLA  I/' I  A. 

"T^  IS  not  your  beauty  can  engage 

My  wary  heart : 
The  sun,  in  all  his  pride  and  rage, 

Has  not  that  art ! 
And  yet  he  shines  as  bright  as  you, 
If  brightness  could  our  souls  subdue. 

'Tis  not  the  pretty  things  you  say, 

Nor  those  you  write, 
Which  can  make  Thyrsis'  heart  your  prey 

For  that  delight. 
The  graces  of  a  well-taught  mind. 
In  some  of  our  own  sex  we  find. 

No,  Flavia  !    't  is  your  love  I  fear ; 

Love's  surest  darts. 
Those  which  so  seldom  fail  him,  are 

Headed  with  hearts : 
Their  very  shadows  make  us  yield; 
Dissemble  well,  and  win  the  field ! 


156 


€t>munti  WeXltt, 


STAYy  PHCEBUS. 

OTAY,  Phoebus!   stay! 

The  world  to  which  you  fly  so  fast, 
Conveying  day 
From  us  to  them,  can  pay  your  haste 
With  no  such  object,  nor  salute  your  rise 
With  no  such  wonder,  as  De  Momay's  eyes. 

Well  does  this  prove 

The  error  of  those  antique  books 

Which  made  you  move 
About  the  world  !      Her  charming  looks 
Would  fix  your  beams,  and  make  it  ever  day, 
Did  not  the  rolling  earth  snatch  her  away. 


^S7 


€li5a6etf|att  ^msfi. 


SONG. 

■^O,  lovely  rose, 

Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 
That  now  she  knows 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that  's  young, 

And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  had'st  thou  sprung 

In  deserts  where  no  men  abide. 

Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

Small  is  the  worth 

Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired; 

Bid  her  come  forth, 

Suffer  herself  to  be  desired. 

And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 


158 


€timunb  Walltt, 


Then  die,  that  she 

The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee, — 

How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 

Who  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair ! 


159 


WILLIAM   HABINGTON. 


1605-1645. 


TO  ROSES  IN   THE  BOSOM  OF  CASTARA. 

WE  blushing  virgins  happy  are 

In  the  chaste  nunnery  of  her  breasts, 
For  he  'd  profane  so  chaste  a  fair 
Who  e'er  should  call  them  Cupid's  nests. 

Transplanted  thus  how  bright  ye  grow, 
How  rich  a  perfume  do  ye  yield  ! 
In  some  close  garden  cowslips  so 
Are  sweeter  than  i'  th'  open  field. 


160 


IBiiliam  I^inston. 


In  those  white  cloisters  Hve  secure 
From  the  rude  blasts  of  wanton  breath, 
Each  hour  more  innocent  and  pure, 
Till  you  shall  wither  into  death. 

Then  that  which  living  gave  you  room 
Your  glorious  sepulchre  shall  be; 
There  wants  no  marble  for  a  tomb, 
Whose  breast  has  marble  been  to  me. 


i6i 


^lijaBetljan  ^ong^. 


TO    CUPID,   UPON  A  DIMPLE  IN 
CASTARA'S   CHEEK. 

IVTIMBLE  boy,  in  thy  warm  flight 

What  cold  tyrant  dimmed  thy  sight? 
Had'st  thou  eyes  to  see  my  fair, 
Thou  would'st  sigh  thyself  to  air 
Fearing,  to  create  this  one, 
Nature  had  herself  undone. 
But  if  you  when  this  you  hear 
Fall  down  murdered  through  your  ear, 
Beg  of  Jove  that  you  may  have 
In  her  cheek  a  dimpled  grave. 
Lily,  rose,  and  violet 
Shall  the  perfumed  hearse  beset; 
While  a  beauteous  sheet  of  lawn 
O'er  the  wanton  corpse  is  drawn; 
And  all  lovers  use  this  breath : 

"Here  lies  Cupid  blest  in  death." 


162 


texHiam  J^afimstom 


THE  REWARD   OF  INNOCENT  LOVE. 

\17E  saw  and  wooed  each  other's  eyes; 
My  soul  contracted  then  with  thine. 
And  both  burned  in  one  sacrifice, 

By  which  the  marriage  grew  divine. 

Time  's  ever  ours  while  we  despise 
The  sensual  idol  of  our  clay; 

For  though  the  sun  doth  set  and  rise, 
We  joy  one  everlasting  day. 

Whose  light  no  jealous  clouds  obscure. 

While  each  of  us  shine  innocent, 
The  troubled  stream  is  still  impure : 

With  virtue  flies  away  content. 

And  though  opinion  often  err. 

We  '11  court  the  modest  smile  of  fame ; 
For  sin's  black  danger  circles  her 

Who  hath  infection  in  her  name. 


163 


<ett?aBet|ian  ^ong^* 


Thus  when  to  one  dark,  silent  room 
Death  shall  our  loving  coffins  thrust, 

Fame  will  build  columns  on  our  tomb, 
And  add  a  perfume  to  our  dust. 


164 


SIR   JOHN   SUCKLING. 


1609-164Z. 


ORSAMES'    SONG. 

FROM    '»AGLAURA." 

"\1 /"HY  SO  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover? 
Prithee,  why  so  pale? 
Will,  when  looking  well  can't  win  her, 
Looking  ill  prevail? 
Prithee,  why  so  pale? 

Why  so  dull  and  mute,  young  sinner? 

Prithee,  why  so  mute? 
Will,  when  speaking  well  can't  win  her, 

Saying  nothing  do  't? 

Prithee,  why  so  mute? 


i6s 


<^Ix5abet{)an  ^ongiS^. 


Quit,  quit,  for  shame  !    this  will  not  move 

This  cannot  take  her. 
If  of  herself  she  will  not  love. 

Nothing  can  make  her: 

The  devil  take  her! 


i66 


<^ir  3F0|)tt  <^ucMtttg. 


CONSTANCY. 

i^UT  upon  it !    I  have  loved 
Three  whole  days  together; 
And  am  like  to  love  three  more, 
If  it  prove  fair  weather. 

Time  shall  moult  away  his  wings, 
Ere  he  shall  discover 

In  the  whole  wide  world  again 

« 

Such  a  constant  lover ! 

But  the  spite  on  't  is,  no  praise 

Is  due  at  all  to  me : 
Love  with  me  had  made  no  stays 

Had  it  any  been  but  she. 

Had  it  any  been  but  she, 

And  that  very  face, 
There  had  been  at  least  ere  this 

A  dozen  dozen  in  her  place. 


167 


oEli^aBetl^an  S>mq$. 


TRUE   LOVE. 

IVTO,  no,  fair  heretic  !   it  needs  must  be 

But  an  ill  love  in  me, 

And  worse  for  thee; 
For  were  it  in  my  power 
To  love  thee  now  this  hour 

More  than  I  did  the  last, 
'T  would  then  so  fall 

I  might  not  love  at  all ! 
Love  that  can  flow  and  can  admit  increase, 
Admits  as  well  an  ebb,  and  may  grow  less. 

True  love  is  still  the  same;   the  torrid  zones 

And  those  more  frigid  ones 

It  must  not  know : 
For  love  grown  cold  or  hot 

Is  lust,  or  friendship,  not 

The  thing  we  have. 
For  that  's  a  flame  would  die 
Held  down,  or  up  too  high. 
Then  think  I  love  more  than  I  can  express, 
And  would  love  more,  could  I  but  love  thee  less. 

i68 


^ir  ^Fofttt  J>ucfelm0* 


SONG. 

T  PRITHEE  send  me  back  my  heart, 
Since  I  can  not  have  thine ; 

For  if  from  yours  you  will  not  part, 
Why  then  shouldst  thou  have  mine? 

Yet  now  I  think  on  't,  let  it  lie. 

To  find  it  were  in  vain; 
For  th'  hast  a  thief  in  either  eye 

Would  steal  it  back  again ! 

Why  should  two  hearts  in  one  breast  lie, 
And  yet  not  lodge  together? 

O  Love  !   where  is  thy  sympathy, 
If  thus  our  breasts  thou  sever? 

But  love  is  such  a  mystery, 

I  cannot  find  it  out; 
For  when  I  think  I  'm  best  resolved, 

I  then  am  in  most  doubt. 


169 


dtli^ahtt^an  M>ons$* 


Then  farewell  care,  and  farewell  woe, 

I  will  no  longer  pine; 
For  I  '11  believe  I  have  her  heart 

As  much  as  she  hath  mine. 


170 


RICHARD   LOVELACE. 

1618-1658. 

TO  ALTHEA  FROM  PRISON. 

\1  7HEN  love  with  unconfin^d  wings 

Hovers  within  my  gates, 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  grates; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair 

And  fettered  to  her  eye, — 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  careless  heads  with  roses  bound, 

Our  hearts  with  loyal  flames; 


171 


Cttj^etftan  S>tmtsfi* 


When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 
When  healths  and  draughts  go  free, 

Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep 
Know  no  such  liberty. 

When,  like  committed  linnets,  I 

With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 
The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty, 

And  glories  of  my  King; 
When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  great  should  be, — 
Enlarged  winds  that  curl  the  flood 

Know  no  such  Uberty. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make. 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage; 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 


172 


"fiTST. 


JSicfiatti  Sobeldce. 


GOING    TO    THE    IVARS. 

T^ELL  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkind, 
That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind 
To  war  and  arms  I  fly  ! 

True,  a  new  mistress  now  I  chase, — 
The  first  foe  in  the  field; 

And  with  a  stronger  faith  embrace 
A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 

Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such 
As  you  too  shall  adore, — 

I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honour  more. 


^71 


(eiijatietljan  ^ongiaf* 


THE  ROSE. 

QWEET,  serene,  sky-like  flower, 
Haste  to  adorn  her  bower ! 
From  thy  long  cloudy  bed 
Shoot  forth  thy  damask  head  ! 

New-startled  blush  of  Flora, 

The  grief  of  pale  Aurora 

(Who  will  contest  no  more), 
Haste,  haste  to  strew  her  floor ! 

Vermilion  ball  that  's  given 

From  lip  to  lip  in  heaven. 

Love's  couch's  coverled, 
Haste,  haste  to  make  her  bed ! 

Dear  offspring  of  pleased  Venus 

And  jolly  plump  Silenus, 

Haste,  haste  to  deck  the  hair 
O'  the  only  sweetly  fair ! 


174 


micl^arb  3tobeIace. 


See  !   rosy  is  her  bower ; 

Her  floor  is  all  this  flower; 
Her  bed  a  rosy  nest 
By  a  bed  of  roses  pressed ! 


»75 


ABRAHAM   COWLEY. 

1618  1667. 

THE    THIEF. 

'T'HOU  robb'st  my  days  of  business  and  delights ; 
Of  sleep  thou  robb'st  my  nights. 
Ah,  lovely  thief,  what  wilt  thou  do? 
What,  rob  me  of  heaven  too? 
Thou  even  my  prayers  dost  steal  from  me, 
And  I,  with  wild  idolatry. 
Begin  to  God,  and  end  them  all  to  thee  ! 

Is  it  a  sin  to  love,  that  it  should  thus 
Like  an  ill  conscience  torture  us? 
Whate'er  I  do,  where'er  I  go 
(None  guiltless  e'er  was  haunted  so), 

776 


3ll6taf)am  CotDlep. 


Still,  still,  methinks  thy  face  I  view, 
And  still  thy  shape  does  me  pursue, 
As  not  you  me,  but  /  had  murdered  you. 

From  books  I   strive  some  remedy  to  take. 

But  thy  name  all  the  letters  make 

Whate'er  't  is  writ ;  I  find  that  there. 

Like  points  and  commas,  everywhere. 

Me  blest  for  this  let  no  man  hold; 

For  I,  as  Midas  did  of  old. 

Perish  by  turning  everything  to  gold. 


177 


€lx^htt^an  ^ms^. 


LOyE  IN  HER  SUNNY  EYES. 

I   OVE  in  her  sunny  eyes  does  basking  play; 
Love  walks  the  pleasant  mazes  of  her  hair; 
Love  does  on  both  her  lips  forever  stray, 
And  sows  and  reaps  a  thousand  kisses  there : 
In  all  her  outward  parts  Love  's  always  seen : 
But,  oh !    he  never  went  within. 


178 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


EC  P  LD 


£C  14  1956 


RCC'D  LD 


JUN    7  1961 


RECrD'%a7TS 


^^^nmiu^-i-D 


Hf'K  161^7. 


5Uo'S9^^ 


KZCD  LD 


OCT  ^  i  1S59 


22May'6lLD 


22MAY'^:: 


-  f 


REC'D  U^ 

MAY  Z  a  >uo^ 


OCT  251991 


[§  iiji;  NOV  1  5  1991 


LD  21-100m-6,'56 
(B9311sl0)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


/ 


SfftKetf y  L 


//.?'"»/fs 


'"''^^^^,0 


